V 


BAYARD  TAYLOR'S  POETICAL  WRITINGS. 

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INCLUDING 

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THE   PROPHET. 

THE  MASQUE  OF  THE   GODS. 

PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

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TRANSLATION  OF  GO  ETHELS  FAUST. 

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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS,  BOSTON. 


THE 


DRAMATIC   WORKS 


OF 


BAYARD    TAYLOR 


WITH    NOTES 

BY 

MARIE  HANSEN-TAYLOR 


BOSTON 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND    COMPANY 
C&e  Htoermfce  Press, 

1880 


Copyright,  1872,  1874,  and  1878, 
BY  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

Copyright,  1880, 
BY  MARIE  TAYLOR. 

3 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass. : 
Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  PROPHET  . I 

THE   MASQUE   OF  THE  GODS  ...  165 

PRINCE   DEUKALION      .        ...        .        .191 

NOTES 323 


THE    PROPHET. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 


DAVID  STARR  .        .        .        ...        .      The  Prophet. 

ELKANAH    .  .  "      j     '    .        .        .        .    His  Father. 

HANNAH          ...        ...        .        .       His  Mother. 

RHODA        .        .  _  .        .        .        .     Afterwards  his  Wife. 

NIMROD  KRAFT  .                              Afterwards  High-Priest. 

Li  VI  A  ROMNEY  .  ...         A  Woman  of  the  World. 

SIMEON      1 

H  \     .        .        .    Members  of  the.  Council  of  Twelve. 

JONAS         J 

SARAH         .         .'.,..        .         .         Wife  of  Jonas. 

PETER       .         .         .An  Orphan,  the  Prophet's  Serving-Man. 

COLONEL  HYDE Sheriff. 

HIRAM      .         .        .         .        ,          A  Member  of  the  Church. 

A  Preacher.     People  of  David's  neighborhood.     Members  of  the 
church.     Women.     Colonel  Hyde's  followers. 

Time,  18— . 

The  scene  of  Act  I.  is  a  New  England  State  ;  of  the  four 
following  Acts,  a  Western  State. 

Between  Acts  I.  and  II.  there  is  an  interval  of  two  years ; 
between  Acts  II.  and  III.,  an  interval  of  one  year. 


THE  PROPHET. 


front-yard,  and  garden  of  a  farm-house.     Late 

afternoon. 


ELKANAH. 

'r|  ^  IS  a  good  ending  of  the  harvest.     Now 

•*•    We  may  be  sure  that  every  sheaf  is  stacked 
Ere  rain  can  spoil  it.     One  load  more,  I  think, 
Said  David.     But  the  farther  side  is  low, 
A  deeper  soil,  bears  well  :  he  may  be  wrong, 
If  on  the  right  side  of  the  estimate. 
I  always  counted  less  than  likely  seemed  ; 
Tried  to  surprise  myself,  as  it  might  be, 
And  so  increase  my  luck.     He  's  over  young 
For  under-guessing  ;  takes  the  most  at  once, 
And  discounts  profit  long  before  it  comes. 
The  lad  is  not  like  me,  or  times  are  changed. 
I  was  my  father  over,  he  declared, 
And  liked  to  say  so  ;  but  good  stock  improves  ; 
Hey,  Hannah  ? 


4  THE  PROPHET.  [Acx  I. 

HANNAH. 

Nay,  I  heard  you  :  I  must  think, 
Whether  I  will  or  no,  about  the  boy, 
As  in  the  anxious  time  when  he  was  born. 
Late  fruit  is  best,  they  say,  —  the  only  kind 
Keeps  over  winter  ;  but  it  may  get  ripe, 
Like  pippins,  when  the  orchard  's  bare  of  leaves. 
Your  disappointment  and  your  discontent 
You  do  forget ;  but  I  remember  all, 
Bearing  the  blame  :  and  when  he  came,  at  last, 
I  said  within  my  heart,  Because  of  that 
The  Lord  means  something.     Now  I  plague  myself, 
Thinking  I  see,  and  straightway  seeing  not, 
The  sign  thereof  revealed  in  David's  life. 

ELKANAH. 

You  could  not  help  such  fancies,  I  suppose, 
While  he  was  on  the  way. 

HANNAH. 

I  know  your  thought : 

You  've  the  same  right  to  seek  yourself  in  him, 
But  will  not  find  it :  he  is  most  of  me. 
Why,  forty  years  have  you  and  I  been  wed  ; 
And  four  and  twenty  has  he  been  with  us. 
I  cannot  say  beforehand,  thus  and  so 
Will  speak  my  husband,  or  decide,  or  act ; 
But  I  must  wait :  yet,  if  a  woman  were 
By  some  strange  miracle  become  a  man, 
Then  I  should  be  our  David's  very  self 
In  feeling  and  in  purpose.     Something  moves 
His  mind  beyond  our  daily  round  of  work  : 
I  know  not  what  it  is,  and  dare  not  ask, 
Lest  prying  words,  before  the  proper  time, 
Breed  mischief. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  PROPHET.  5 

ELKANAH. 

Wife,  the  boy  is  all  a  man  : 
He  '11  soon  spy  out  what 's  wanting. 

HANNAH. 

Ah,  not  that  ! 
PETER. 

(Singing  at  a  distance.") 
Sing,  blow  the  wind  o'  mornings  ! 
Sing,  blow  the  wind,  'igh  O  ! 
Sing,  brush  away  the  morning  dew, 
Sing,  blow,  blow,  blow  ! 

ELKANAH. 

The  last  load  :  otherwise,  would  Peter  sing 

Not  quite  so  loudly.     They  have  built  it  broad, 

Mayhap,  and  high,  to  save  another.     Well, 

Whether  it  show  good  luck  or  management 

Makes  odds  in  the  end.     There  be  two  ways  of  work  ; 

And  one  is  doing  it  because  you  must, 

And  one  because  you  like.     Look  when  it 's  done, 

You  '11  see  small  difference,  as  the  case  is  now  ; 

And  I  misdoubt  me  sorely  which  it  is. 

DAVID. 

(Singing,  distant  at  first,  but  gradually  drawing  nearer?) 
If  one  to  yonder  mountain  saith, 

Be  cast  into  the  sea  ! 
And  doubteth  not,  so  filled  with  faith, 

The  mount  removed  shall  be. 
Though  love  is  first,  yet  faith  is  chief  : 
Lord,  I  believe  ;  help  Thou  mine  unbelief  ! 

Behold,  He  granteth  prophecy, 
And  gift  of  tongues,  to  all : 


6  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  I. 

His  fullest  bounty  waits  for  me, 

Though  1"  delay  to  call. 
The  measure  of  our  days  is  brief  : 
Lord,  I  believe  ;  help  Thou  mine  unbelief  ! 

(RHODA,  approaching  the  hotise  from  the  opposite  side,  pauses  at 
the  gate,  and  listens.  She  begins  to  sing,  at  first  in  a  low 
voice,  then  louder  to  the  close ;  when  DAVID  appears.} 

DAVID. 

I  thought  of  you,  and  straightway  find  you  here. 
Was  that  your  prayer,  as  well  ?     I  '11  not  believe 
You  utter  words,  as  one  lets  pebbles  drop, 
To  splash  in  water  :  you  've  a  helpful  soul, 
I  think,  to  make  another's  faith  more  firm 
By  just  believing,  Rhoda  ? 

RHODA. 

What  I  am 
Can  I  declare  ? 

DAVID. 

Then  I  will  set  you  forth. 
I  '11  say  that  love  in  you  is  one  with  faith  : 
The  trust  you  give  means  an  eternal  term, 
And  following  through  good  and  ill  report, 
And  with  strong  heart  sustaining  where  the  mind 
Would  stop  and  question.     These  were  woman's  gifts, 
When  she  beheld  the  Master,  and  obeyed ; 
And  they  are  yours  ;  if  I  supposed  you  false, 
I  should  be  most  unhappy. 

'   RHODA. 

No,  not  false  ! 
Believe  me,  David,  anything  but  that ! 

[They  pass  into  the  garden. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  PROPHET.  7 

HANNAH. 

They  both  forget  us  !     Even  his  face  is  strange, 
Most  strange  and  beautiful  with  serious  thought ; 
While  hers  is  troubled,  yet  has  nought  of  pain. 
I  do  not  understand  it.     She  's  a  child, 
Is  Rhoda  still ;  and  wise  she  never  seemed. 
Can  one  give  counsel,  comprehending  not 
The  doubtful  matter  ?     Surely  unto  her 
He  cannot  show  what  he  keeps  back  fromjne  ! 
Men  seek  clear  notions,  whether  fair  or  foul, 
When  they  have  pondered  anything  so  long 
As  he  with  this.     They  take  the  orchard-path  : 
The  fruit  will  hardly  be  their  chief  concern, 
Yet  gives  fair  ground  that  I  may  follow  them. 

{Exit. 

ELKANAH. 

(Laughing  to  himself.} 

Ha,  ha  !  I  see  no  mystery  in  the  thing. 
A  practised  tongue  has  Hannah,  takes  her  way 
And  justifies  it,  past  my  argument ; 
Yet  now  and  then,  like  one  in  too  much  haste, 
Her  notions  trip,  and  throw  her  flat  on  mine. 
Because  the  lad  was  moony,  she,  forsooth, 
Must  think  him  like  a  Samuel,  set  apart 
For  this  or  t'other  ;  but  it's  nothing  new. 
He  goes  the  way  of  flesh  and  blood,  that  first 
Knows  hardly  what  the  natural  ailment  is, 
Till  each  finds  out,  and  then  the  other  heals. 
Yes,  yes,  these  women  !     Best  to  give  them  line, 
And  let  them  pry  a  while  among  the  clouds 
For  what  their  very  noses  touch.     She  kept 
Him  close,  and  preached  upon  and  coddled  him, 
As  if  a  root  of  wilder  oats  is  killed 


8  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  I. 

When  you  keep  down  the  top.     The  girl,  't  is  true, 
Might  have  a  bigger  dowry  :  let  that  pass  ! 
High  time  it  is  to  settle  him  afresh  ; 
And  Hannah  has  no  call  to  interfere. 

[Exit 
(HANNAH,  DAVID,  #«</ RHODA  return.} 

DAVID. 

Neither  to  you  nor  Rhoda,  mother.     Both 
Must  wait  what  cometh ;  for,  if  I  could  say, 
Then  I  should  know. 

HANNAH. 

And  each  of  you  is  sure 
You  love  the  other  ?     I  have  seen  no  signs. 
Even  neighbor's  children  do  not  change  so  much, 
But  there  is  seeking,  doubt,  and  bashfulness, 
Which  will  betray  them. 

DAVID. 

None  of  these  are  ours  : 
I  did  not  seek  what  was  already  found ; 
And  truth  in  me  prohibits  doubt  of  her. 
If  what  concerneth  life  was  once  ordained 
For  others,  there  must  be  direction  still. 
The  nearest  heart  is  ever  easiest  read  : 
So,  reading  Rhoda's  by  the  light  of  mine 
And  that  above,  as  one  may  hold  pure  glass 
Before  the  least  of  stars,  nor  make  it  dim, 
I  saw  that  each  was  chosen.     Rhoda,  speak, 
And  tell  me  once  again  your  heart  is  mine  ! 

RHODA. 

You  know  it,  even  if  I  answered  Nay. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  PROPHET. 


SCENE  II.  —  A  CAMP-MEETING. 

A  grove  of  large,  scattered  oak-trees.  Against  two,  which 
stand  near  together,  a  platform  is  built,  supporting  a  ptilpit 
of  rough  timber.  In  front  of  the  platform  are  benches 
of  planks,  upon  which  several  hundred  persons  are  seated, 
DAVID,  RHODA,  and  PETER  among  them.  Tents  are 
pitched  under  the  borders  of  the  grove.  Many  persons 
kneeling  at  the  front  benches,  weeping  and  shouting. 

HYMN. 

There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood 

Drawn  from  Immanuel's  veins  ; 
And  sinners,  plunged  beneath  that  flood, 

Lose  all  their  guilty  stains. 

THE    PREACHER. 

{Resuming   his  exhortation,  which    was    interrupted   by    the 

hymn.) 

Oh,  there  are  more  among  ye  shall  be  plucked 
As  brands  from  out  the  burning  !     By  the  hair 
I  '11  seize  you,  —  even  by  the  single  hair 
That  holds  you  from  the  pit'!     My  hands  are  singed 
With  loosening  the  Devil's  grip  on  souls ; 
And  you,  who  should  strike  out  with  fists  and  feet, 
Leave  me  the  fight,  the  cowards  that  you  are  ! 
You  think  the  Lord  can't  see  you  :  even  so 
The  ostrich  sticketh  in  the  sand  her  head 
To  save  her  gay  tail-feathers  :  pull  them  out, 
And  cast  them  from  you  !      Though  you   hide  your 
selves 

Under  the  mountains,  it  will  not  be  long  ; 
He  '11  send  you  wriggling  forth,  as  mean  as  mice  ; 
And,  though  you  dive  down  in  the  deepest  sea, 


10  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  I. 

He  '11  haul  you  to  the  surface  like  a  whale, 
Harpooned,  and  spouting  blood. 

(Cries  and  groans  among  the  people.} 

Yes,  gnash  and  roar 
Like  lions  on  the  hills  of  Havilum  ; 
But,  all  the  same,  He  '11  ask  full  price  of  you. 
Come  up,  ye  publicans  and  sinners  !     Kneel, 
Pray  hard,  mourn  with  the  mourners,  and  be  saved  ! 
Strike  off  the  crusted  brimstone  from  your  feet, 
And  swap  the  Devil's  fire  for  water  of  life  ! 
Oh  !  don't  I  know  you  ?     This  one's  pride  of  mind, 
And  that  one's  wretched  fear  of  what  folks  say, 
And  t'  other's  cold  "  morality,"  as  if 
An  ice-house  better  than  an  oven  baked,  — 
Oh  !  don't  I  know  ?     I  had  them  all  myself  : 
I  was  a  scurvy  sheep,  distempered,  bad 
With  foot  and  mouth  disease  :  He  picked  me  up, 
And,  as  it  were,  greased  me  with  oil  of  grace, 
And  washed  my  spotted  fleece  until  it  shone. 
You  think  you  're  clean  already;  but  He  sees 
Red  under  broadcloth,  silk,  and  calico,  — 
Only  your  livers  white  !  * 

(Several  more  come  forward  to  the  front  benches,  and  kneel 
dozvn  with  loud  cries. } 

Two,  three,  four,  five  ! 

Each  one  as  nine  and  ninety  righteous  men  : 
Why,  these  alone  outweigh  the  rest  of  you  ! 
You  give  a  serpent  when  he  asks  for  fish  ; 
And  He  upsets,  as  men  their  wagons  tilt, 
His  four-horse  loads  of  mercies  and  of  gifts, 
And  buries  with  them  all  that  say,  "  I  need." 
(If is  eyes  meet  those  of  DAVID,  who  leans  forward  in  his  seat 

with  a  fixed,  abstracted  gaze.} 
I  see  another  sinner  !     He  's  afraid  : 


SCENE  II.]  THE  PROPHET. 

It  may  be  that  he  magnifies  his  sin. 
But,  don't  you  know,  the  bigger  load  you  bear, 
The  greater  comfort  when  you  cast  it  off  ? 
Oh  !  you  '11  be  pardoned  fully,  not  a  doubt : 
He  likes  to  pardon.     Trembling  brother,  come  ! 
You  will  not  ?     Say,  then,  do  you  love  the  Lord  ? 

DAVID. 

(Rising,  as  if  with  a  struggle  and  speaking  slowly.} 
Whether  I  love  Him,  and  how  well,  He  knows. 

PETER. 

(Aside  to  his  neighbor.) 
Not  quite  the  answer  he  expected. 

THE   PREACHER. 

Yes, 

He  knoweth.     Do  you  seek  a  hole  in  the  net, 
Caught  by  the  gills  already  ?     Yes,  He  knows  : 
These  mourners  cry  to  Him  because  of  that. 

DAVID. 
Let  Him  be  Judge  of  me  ! 

THE    PREACHER. 

He  is  your  Judge 

Without  your  letting.     These  are  Devil's  tricks,  — 
This  playing  pitch-and-toss  with  holy  words, 
To  gain  a  little  time.     Come  up,  choose  sides  ! 
The  Lord  means  business.     Where  a  gnat 's  enough 
For  others,  must  you  have  an  elephant, 
And  all  His  promises  rammed  down  your  throat, 
Before  you  know  their  taste  ? 


12  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  I. 

DAVID   (eagerly}. 

His  promises  ?  — 

The  power  of  miracle  and  prophecy, 
And  gift  of  tongues  ?     He  promised  them  to  all ; 
And  Paul  confirmed  it.     Tell  me,  then,  the  signs  ! 
The  heart  within  me  aches  from  stress  of  faith  : 
I  have  no  need  to  pray,  except  for  power, 
Which  is  the  seal  and  covenant  for  them 
Whom  He  has  chosen. 

(Movements  and  exclamations  among  the  people. ) 

THE    PREACHER. 

So  take  hold  on  hell 

The  proud  of  spirit.     What  !  the  gift  of  tongues, 
The  power  of  miracle  and  prophecy, 
You  ask,  without  repentance,  prayer,  and  grace  ? 

DAVID. 

For  what  should  I  repent  ?     Why  pray  as  these 
Who  cry  from  secret  consciousness  of  sin  ? 
I  never  let  a  fault  against  me  stand 
For  day  of  settlement,  then  balanced  all 
By  pleading  bankrupt,  only  to  begin 
A  fresh  account.     Acceptance,  yea,  and  faith, 
Are  mine  already,  tenfold  more  than  yours, 
Who  neither  ask,  nor  know  what  ye  should  ask. 

THE    PREACHER. 

We  choose  His  simple  way.     You  would  mislead  : 
Be  silent  ! 

CRIES    AMONG   THE    PEOPLE. 

Out!     A  very  infidel !  — 

No  sinner  ?     Never  prays  ?     Why,  Antichrist 
Could  say  no  more  !     To  face  the  preacher  so  ! 
Away  with  him  ! 


SCENE  III.]  THE  PROPHET.  13 

PETER. 
(  Turning  suddenly,  with  clinched  fists.} 

The  preacher  drew  him  on, 
And  got  no  worse  than  he  deserved.     I  say, 
Touch  him,  it  won't  be  "  Glory  !  "  that  you  '11  shout, 
After  a  sore  repentance. 

DAVID.     y^TEll 

If  I  th*ke 
This  dust  from  off  my  feet,  I  do  Tpo  more 
Than  was  commanded.     Have  you  privilege 
To  darken  counsel  with  your  cloud  of  words  ? 
To  teach  the  lesser  part,  reject  the  whole, 
And  mutilate  His  glory  unto  men  ? 
Woe  to  the  Pharisees  and  hypocrites, 
Even  here  as  there,  even  in  these  latter  days, 
As  when  upon  the  paths  of  Galilee 
His  feet  were  beautiful  !     My  words  are  said. 

(He  leaves  the  place  amid  a  great  outcry  and  confusion!) 


SCENE   III. 

A  lonely  lane,  evening. 
DAVID  (solus). 

Cast  out  ?     By  them  that  think  they  do  believe, 

Cursed  for  believing  ?     God  !  what,  then,  is  truth  ? 

Why,  here  Thy  minted  gold  is  worn  with  use, 

Sweated  in  handling,  till  the  head  thereon 

Is  quite  rubbed  out,  the  superscription  dim. 

I  did  but  offer  it  as  freshly  coined, 

With  all  its  glorious  promise  legible, 

And  they  cry,  "  Counterfeit !  "     Ten  talents  given, 

Nine  have  they  buried,  and  a  single  one 


14  THE  PROPHET.  [Acx  I. 

Divide  among  the  people,  who  are  blind, 
And  blindly  led  :  shall  I  not  therefore  see  ? 

(He pauses,  and  looks  upwards.} 
How  reach  the  faith  so  perfect  and  assured 
That  every  gift  must  follow  ?     I  have  tried, 
Sought  evidence  in  lightest,  easiest  ways  : 
Nothing  obeyed.     So  I  have  not  the  faith, 
Or  —     O  my  God  !  there  is  no  faith,  no  power, 
Nor  miracle  ;   and  never  can  have  been. 
But  this  is  madness  !     This  makes  truth  a  lie, 
Makes  life  an  emptiness  far  worse  than  death, 
Peoples  the  world  with  devils,  drives  men  mad, 
And  substitutes  — 

( Another  pause. ) 
I  had  not  thought  of  that. 
Times    changed,    conditions   changed :    hence    special 

need 

Of  worthiness  through  trial,  harder  now 
Than  when  all  understood  what  meant  belief, 
And  perfect  faith  was  natural  to  them. 
How  can  I  measure  mine  by  other  men's  ? 
I  saw  not  right :  I  claimed  the  highest  power, 
Unpurchased.     What  apostle  shall  declare, 
As  then,  the  fealty  of  a  human  soul  ? 
Not  he  ;  not  he  !     And  are  not  all  alike, 
Giving  their  husks  of  doctrine  for  His  bread  ? 
The  ground  we  stand  on  is  too  far  apart : 
Whom  seek  ?     Why,  none  !     A  hand  is  on  my  head, 
A  finger  points  the  way. 

PETER  (coming  lip}. 

I  meant  to  leave 

When  you  did  ;  but,  because  I  cannot  swear 
As  properly  as  they,  and  just  let  fly 


SCENE  III.]  THE  PROPHET.  15 

Hard  lumps  of  words  like  stones  to  hit  and  hurt, 
They  cursed  me  roundly,  —  in  a  holy  way  ; 
And  one,  with  hand  upon  my  collar,  cried, 
"  Down,  sinner,  and  repent  !  "     I  answered  him 
Between  the  eyes  ;  then  dashed  the  rest  apart, 
And  so  got  headway.     Let  us  hurry  on  : 
They're  after  us. 

DAVID. 

And  if  they  were  ?     My  right 
Is  greater.     Did  you  understand  my  words  ? 

PETER. 

As  much  as  his.     He  did  not  answer  you  : 
That  I  could  understand. 


DAVID. 

If  unto  you 

So  much  was  manifest,  and  to  the  rest, 
They  only  want  authority  and  sign, 
Which  I  must  purchase.     Peter,  I  believe 
All  men  are  brethren  when  they  see  the  truth. 

PETER. 

You  never  called  me  "  brother  ;  "  yet  you  did 
Even  as  a  brother. 

DAVID. 

Did  I  so,  indeed  ? 
I  thought  not  of  it. 

(  They  walk  forwards. ) 

PETER. 

Why  should  you  not  preach  ? 
There  always  must  be  preachers  in  the  world. 


1 6  THE  PROPHET.  [Acx  I. 

We  're  used  to  them  ;  and  people  say  that  things 
Would  go  to  wrack  without  them  ;  but  I  wish 
They  'd  yell  and  bang  and  thunder  less.     Somehow 
The  text  is  friendly,  smooth,  and  innocent 
As  seems  a  flint ;  yet  soon  they  knock  from  it 
Thick  sparks  of  hell-fire,  and  the  sulphur-stink 
Goes  to  men's  heads,  and  sets  them  raving  wild. 
You  W preach  some  comfort,  now. 

DAVID. 

Would  you  believe  ? 

PETER. 

Why  not  ?     Something  we  must  believe,  they  say. 
What  I  can't  understand  I  take  on  trust. 
It  's  getting  late  :  the  hogs  and  cattle  know 
There  's  earlier  feeding-time  when  Sunday  comes. 
(He  hastens  on.) 

DAVID. 

The  world  is  peaceful.     There  should  be  no  sin  : 

There  need  not  be,  or  misery,  any  more. 

Yon  blue  is  loftier  than  the  changing  wind, 

And  spreads  serenely  back  of  cloud  and  storm 

To  show  us  what  we  might  be.     Wherefore  strive  ? 

Faith  puts  contention  quietly  aside, 

Smiles,  and  is  master. 

(Rhoda  overtakes  him.} 

I  have  need  of  you, 

My  Rhoda.     Sooner  than  the  signs  announced, 
The  time  draws  nigh.     Here,  walk  beside  me  now 
At  the  beginning,  as  it  were  the  end. 

RHODA. 

I  was  not  frightened.     All  you  said  was  true. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  PROPHET.  I/ 

I  thought  you  answered  as  one  having  power ; 
And  so  did  many  others. 

'  DAVID. 

Rhoda,  look  ! 

How  yonder  little  cloud  is  all  afire, 
As  if  a  rose  unshrivelled  so  could  burn, 
That  was  so  gray  and  dull !     Even  such  am  I. 
I  cannot  help  the  color,  nor  escape 
The  light  that  shines  upon  me.     You  will  be 
Yon  other  cloud,  that  mingles  with  the  first 
While  now  we  gaze  ;  and  let  the  multitude 
Spread  as  the  clammy  meadow-mists  below, 
That  never  saw  the  sunset ! 

RHODA. 

And  I  feared 

That  you  might  be  disquieted  in  soul  !  — 
Your  peace  and  strength  leave  all  the  trouble  mine. 
I  can  but  take  whatever  light  is  yours, 
That  is  not  wasted  from  a  nobler  use. 
I  will  not  speak  of  mine  unworthiness  ; 
For  that  were  thankless  censure  of  your  heart, 
Which  finds  me  worthy. 

DAVID. 

Proven  so  again  ! 

You  are  a  glass  wherein  I  see  myself 
Reflected  as  I  change,  —  now  clear,  now  dim, 
And  soon  (or  else,  I  think,  the  earth  shall  cease) 
Clothed  on  with  brightness,  as  a  lamp  with  flame. 

RHODA. 

I  pray  that  I  may  read  what  you  intend. 
It  must  be  so  :  how,  otherwise,  give  help  ? 

2 


*  8  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  I. 

DAVID. 

Will  help  be  needed  ? 


RHODA. 

Will  not  trouble  come  ? 
I  have  the  feeling  that  foretells  a  storm 
When  not  a  cloud  has  gathered,  —  sultry,  strange, 
And  full  of  restlessness  which  is  not  fear. 
This  is  of  me  alone  :  untouched  are  you 
By  that  which  you  regard  not. 

DAVID. 

Let  me  be  ! 

Stand  off,  keep  silence,  wait  and  hope  !     One  step 
Gives  me  the  pathway  ;  but  my  lifted  foot 
Feels  in  the  dark,  conjectures  an  abyss 
Where  one  bold  thrust  might  touch  the  solid  base. 
My  peace  and  strength,  you  said  ?    There  's  seeming 

peace 

When  hope,  desire,  and  prayer  have  done  their  most, 
And  wait  in  agony  the  answer.     Come  ! 
I  hardly  feel  the  earth  that  bears  me  up. 
The  sky  is  blazing  ;  all  the  air  is  gold ; 
And  every  hill-top  is  a  step  to  heaven. 

[  They  pass  on, 

SCENE  IV. 

The  sitting-room  of  the  farm-house,  dusk.     HANNAH  seated  in 
an  old  arm-chair  at  the  window. 

HANNAH. 

If  half  of  Peter's  story  be  the  truth, 

The  thing  will  make  disturbance.     Not  of  that, 

As  him  affecting,  should  I  be  afraid, 

Were  not  the  place,  and  manner  of  his  words, 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  PROPHET.  19 

Weapons  against  him.     Brooding  men  are  rash 
When  forced  or  cozened  to  declare  themselves  ; 
And  he  has  made,  if  more  his  thought  includes, 
Unwise  beginning.     Whither  will  it  lead  ? 
He  angers  me,  who,  in  my  younger  days, 
Was  often  hotly  angered  with  myself 
Without  such  bitter  cause  ;  and,  having  led 
In  love  so  long,  I  now  must  lead  by  blame. 
It  is  a  pestilent  business,  and  for  nought ! 
I  did  not  say  a  word  against  his  choice, 
Though  higher  — he  a  man  so  proper,  she 
As  hundreds  are  —  he  had  the  right  to  look. 
And  now  this  useless,  flighty  piece  of  work  ! 

ELKANAH  (entering}. 

Oh,  yes  !  you  've  heard.     Although  I  hardly  see 
Your  face,  I  know  you  know  it.     Well,  this  once 
I  think  we  shall  agree. 

HANNAH. 

First  speak  your  mind. 

ELKANAH. 

My  mind  is  yours.     I  always  thought  you  wise 
As  women  may  be  :  therefore  there  's  no  cause 
To  make  this  that,  when  all  is  clear  as  day. 
My  name  and  standing  in  the  neighborhood, 
And  yours,  are  likely  to  be  touched  ;  for  none 
Will  side  with  him. 

HANNAH. 

How  ?    None  ?    Suppose  him  right 
Not  rash  or  flighty,  as  the  thing  may  seem, 
But  wise  and  well-considered,  shall  he  bear 
Unjust  abuse,  and  we  take  no  concern  ? 
Then  were  our  name  and  standing  touched  indeed  ! 


20  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  I. 

ELKANAH. 

(Lifting  up  his  hands.} 

Why,  wedded  forty  years  (the  words  are  yours), 
I  cannot  say  beforehand,  thus  and  so 
Will  speak  my  wife,  when  wisdom,  reason,  sense, 
Have  but  one  language.     Did  I  call  you  wise  ? 
I  knew  not  what  I  said.     The  moon-struck  boy 
First  cracks  the  egg-shell  of  his  addled  brain  ; 
And  yours,  to  please  him,  then  begins  to  split. 

HANNAH. 

Elkanah,  hush  !     But,  nay  !  speak  as  you  list, 
And  let  your  anger  breathe  itself  on  me. 
Though  I  be  sore  confounded,  I  withhold 
Untimely  chiding,  which  confirms  the  fault 
Not  felt  as  such  by  him  ;  and,  if  the  thing 
Be  verily  justified,  avoid  a  sin. 
Be  gentle  with  your  first  and  only  born. 

DAVID. 

(Entering  hastily}. 
Father  !     Mother  ! 

HANNAH. 

Behold  us  here,  my  son  ! 

DAVID. 

I  will  not  call  you  any  other  names, 
Though  all  be  granted. 

ELKANAH. 

As  a  favor,  then  ? 

Say  more,  or  less,  and  let  your  riddles  drop. 
My  wits  are  dumb. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  PROPHET,  21 

DAVID. 

This  must  be  the  command. 

[Exit. 

ELKANAH. 

If  ever  !     Did  you  mark  his  lordly  air  ? 
Let  us  be  thankful,  that,  because  he  made 
A  strange  disturbance  in  a  godly  place, 
He  still  acknowledges  he  is  our  son. 

HANNAH    (rising). 

Oh,  spare  me  any  more  !     'T  was  not  in  pride 
He  spake.     He  scarcely  thought  of  us  :  his  soul 
Is  moved  by  madness,  or  a  mighty  truth, 
Or  both  in  battle.     All  my  blood  grew  cold  : 
My  limbs  are  trembling  still. 

(She  lights  a  lamp.) 

I  fear  the  dusk. 

There  was  a  bat  before  the  window  brushed, 
A  hoot-owl  cried.     Well,  call  me  anything  — 
Mistaken,  silly,  weak  —  when  this  is  past  ; 
But  now  be  kind. 

{DAVID  comes  back.     He  pattses  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  with 
a  strange,  rapt  expression  of  face. } 

Will  you  not  speak  to  us, 
My  son  !     Declare  so  much  as  may  be  told : 
We  listen. 

DAVID. 

(As  if  speaking  to  himself.} 
Quarantania  ! 

HANNAH. 
(After  a  pause.} 

Nay,  nay,  nay, 
This  is  no  answer  :  do  not  frighten  us  ! 


22  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  I. 

Whatever  purpose  so  disturbs  your  brain 
You  cannot  speak  it,  neither  shape  its  form 
Clearly  unto  yourself,  give  words,  but  words  : 
Silence  is  poison. 

DAVID. 

{Louder  than  before.} 

Quarantania  ! 

\He  passes  out  the  door. 

HANNAH. 

Ah, 

He  's  lost !     My  husband,  help  !  the  world  is  dark. 
(She  falls  in  a  swoon.} 


SCENE  V. 

A  wild,  rocky  valley  between  hills  covered  with  forests  ;  on  the 
left  an  overhanging  cliff ;  a  small  brook  in  the  foreground. 

DAVID  (solus}. 

The  second  day  is  sinking  to  its  end, 
How  slowly  !     These  eternities  of  thought 
Wherein  I  grope,  and  strive  to  lose  myself, 
Spin  to  a  weary  length  the  glaring  hours. 
I  would  the  night  were  come  ;  for  I  am  faint, 
And  from  my  hold  the  things  I  pray  to  reach 
Seem  weakly  slipping.     Night  will  give  them  back, 
When  every  star  shines  comfort,  and  the  air 
Is  crossed  all  ways  by  print  of  noiseless  feet 
That  on  mysterious  errands  come  and  go. 
Could  I  recall  my  vision  !     All  is  clear 
Save  that — my  bed  of  leaves  beneath  the  rock  ; 
The  doubt  if  I  were  still  indeed  myself, 
And  any  thing  was  what  it  seemed  ;  until 


SCENE  V.]  THE  PROPHET. 

Came  languid  peace,  then  awe  and  shuddering 
Without  a  cause,  a  frost  in  every  vein, 
And  the  heart  hammered,  as  to  burst  mine  ears. 
Something  slid  past  me,  cold  and  serpent-like  : 
The  trees  were  filled  with  whispers  ;  and  afar 
Called  voices  not  of  man  :  and  then  my  soul 
Went  forth  from  me,  and  spread  and  grew  aloft 
Through  darting  lights  —  His  arrows,  here  and  there 
Shot  down  on  earth.     But  now  my  knowledge  fades  : 
What  followed,  keener,  mightier,  than  a  dream, 
My  hope  interprets.     Only  his  I  know, — 
The  dark,  invisible  pillars  of  the  sky 
Breathed  like  deep  organ-pipes  of  awful  sound  : 
A  myriad  myriad  tongues  the  choral  sang  ; 
And  drowned  in  it,  stunned  with  excess  of  power, 
My  soul  sank  down,  and  sleep  my  body  touched. 

(He  pauses,  and  looks  around.} 

The  shadows  will  not  lengthen.     All  my  throat 

Seems  choked  with  dust.     I  never  knew  before 

How  beautiful  may  be  a  little  brook. 

I  cannot  leave  it,  cannot  turn  mine  eyes, 

So  tempting  and  so  innocent  it  runs. 

If  I  might  drink  !     The  dry  blood  else  may  breed 

Fever  and  flightiness.     I  must  be  sound, 

Or  soon  — 

(He  stoops  suddenly,  dips  up  the  water  in  his  hand,  and 
drinks. } 

Oh,  sweet  as  Cana's  wedding-wine  ! 
Did  He  not  offer  it  ?     Such  sudden  bliss, 
Born  of  the  body,  penetrates  my  brain  ! 
I  doubt  no  more  :  the  vision  will  return. 

(  There  is  a  rustling  among  the  leaves.  A  snake  thrusts  its  head 
forth  from  tinder  a  &us/i,  and  gazes  at  him.} 


24  THE  PROPHET.  [Acr  I. 

Tempte\ion,  was  it  ?  and  the  tempter,  thou, 

In  thy  first  shape  ?     I  will  not  be  afeared. 

If  thou  hast  power,  come  forth  :  if  I,  depart  ! 

I  dare  the  fascination  of  thine  eyes  : 

Look  thou,  lest  mine  subdue  thee  !     Is  it  so  ? 

He  veils  the  glittering,  bead-like  sparks,  and  turns, 

Startled,  and  winds  in  sinuous  escape. 

Why,  this  is  fresh  fulfilment  of  the  Word  ! 

Faint  not,  my  soul :    the  rest  will  surely  come. 

[He  walks  slowly  away. 

(After  a  little  space  enters') 
NIMROD   KRAFT. 

Yon  must  be  he  they  seek :  he  is  the  same 
I  also  seek  ;  but  let  me  not  be  rash. 
If,  by  the  spirit  driven  that  bade  him  speak, 
He  hides  for  meditation,  or  is  verily  daft, 
As  they  whose  minds  take  up  too  sore  a  load, 
He  must  be  humored.     I  will  watch  him  close 
Until  some  act  or  gesture  give  me  hint, 
And  then  approach  discreetly. 

[He  follows 
(Enter  RHODA  and  PETER.) 

PETER. 

Shall  I  call 
(He  knows  my  whoop),  or  sing  the  hymn  he  made  ? 

(Sings,  but  not  loudly.} 

"  If  one  to  yonder  mountain  saith, 
'  Be  cast  into  the  sea  ! '  " 

There  !     I  forget  the  rest. 

RHODA. 

Nay,  now  ;  keep  still ! 


SCENE  V.]  THE  PROPHET.  25 

I  've  but  a  guess  to  guide  me  ;  and  it  says 
He  will  not  see  us.     Sure,  that  word  betrayed 
His  thought.     But  can  this  be  the  place  ?  or  where  ? 
Ah,  while  we  wait,  perhaps  he  's  lying  dead  ! 
Foolish  !  I  know  he  lives.     Some  lives  are  safe, 
Because  they  are  not  meant  for  pleasant  paths  : 
Some  wits  keep  sound,  to  work  for  other  minds. 
I  must  not  fear  ;  he  would  not  have  me  fear  : 
If  he  discover  us,  I  must  be  shamed, 
Showing  so  little  faith. 

PETER. 

And  so  much  care  ! 

If  this  goes  on,  I  '11  shortly  preach  myself. 
I  '11  give  you  sparrows  for  example,  toads, 
And  stupid  owls  :  no  one  goes  off  alone, 
And  t'  other  fears  to  look  for  't !     Did  the  Lord 
Put  such  a  powerful  pressure  on  his  head, 
To  leave  him,  sudden,  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp, 
The  work  unfinished  ?     Then  't  was  not  the  Lord. 


RHODA. 

You've  spoken  wiselier,  Peter,  than  you  think. 

PETER. 

So  wisdom  's  cheap  !     I  never  valued  much 
My  random  notions  :  what  they  call  horse-sense 
I  always  had  ;  and  that  sometimes  will  serve 
Even  folks  that  prance  so  high  above  our  heads. 
Now,  here  's  the  question  :    Is  he  like  to  starve  ? 
You  think  he  means  to  try  it.     Well  and  good  !  — 
And  we  must  search,  but  not  find  openly  ; 
Feed  him,  without  his  knowledge  ;  watch  his  ways, 
And  not  be  noticed.     So  I  've  nought  to  do 


26  THE   PROPHET.  [ACT  I. 

But  look  for  tracks,  and  leave  the  provender  : 
The  risk  is  yours. 

{He goes  slowly  up  the  brook,  with  a  basket  on  his  arm.} 

RHODA  (solus). 
I  try  to  force  my  soul 
To  follow  his,  and  question  not  the  way. 
Within  this  valley,  called  the  Wilderness, 
He  must  be  hidden,  if  I  understand, 
To  win,  in  solitude,  the  faith  and  power. 
'T  is  pleasant,  now  :  the  shadows  of  the  hills 
Soothe  the  hot  leaves  with  dreams  of  coming  dew  ; 
The  crannies  of  the  serpent-haunted  rocks 
No  longer  threaten  ;  and  the  water  here 
Runs  onward  with  a  soft,  contented  sound. 
I  will  believe  him  safe.     And  what  is  night 
But  as  a  darksome  cloth  that  covers  us  ? 
Nothing  can  harm  him,  for  he  did  no  harm  ; 
And  that  for  which  he  goes  apart  from  all 
Will  be  vouchsafed,  or  prayer  is  fruitless  breath. 

PETER   (returning). 

I  found  his  track  !  —  beside  yon  biggest  rock, 
On  the  flat  sand,  a  little  water-soaked, 
And  made  so  freshly,  that  I  stooped.     You  said 
He  must  not  see  us. 

RHODA. 
And  you  left  him  food  ? 

PETER. 

Upon  a  shelf  that  jutted  from  the  rock, 
Smooth  as  a  platter.     There  's  no  other  place, 
Up  stream  or  down,  but  briery  thickets  grow  ; 
And,  if  he  pass  before  the  fowls  o'  the  air 
Spy  out  his  supper  — 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  PROPHET.  27 

RHODA. 

Come,  it  is  enough  ! 
So  glad  am  I  at  having  guessed  aright, 
I  crave  no  more,  lest,  pressing  on  too  close, 
I  spoil  the  certainty  of  what  remains. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  VI. 

Another  part  of  the  valley  ;  NIMROD  KRAFT  near  some  bushes  ; 
DAVID  at  a  little  distance. 

NIMROD. 

Behind  these  bushes  I  can  watch  at  will. 

He  thinks  himself  alone  ;  nay,  not  of  that 

Thinks  he  at  all :  his  gaze  is  bent  aloft, 

Or  falls,  and  roots  itself  before  his  feet. 

So  young  !     Yet  even  here  he  bears  himself 

As  one  commissioned,  who  but  waits  the  brief, 

With  seal  and  clear  subscription,  ere  he  act. 

Why  not  ?     Has  God  been  sleeping  all  this  while, 

Or  only  men  ?     They  stand  afar  and  strange, 

And  count  their  generations  Gentile  still. 

Of  Christian  parents  Christian  children  come, 

Baptized  before  begotten,  then  at  birth 

Set  back  to  ancient  heathendom,  and  spoiled 

Of  all  their  hoarded  heritage.     Not  such 

Is  he  :  he  claims  his  birthright,  will  possess, 

And  may  restore  to  others,  bringing  back 

The  old,  forgotten  forces  of  the  Church, 

Whose  right  hand  is  Authority,  whose  left 

Obedience.     But,  however  he  may  build, 

My  coarser  strength  must  hew  and  set  the  stones. 

If  but  my  purpose  can  be  squared  with  his  ! 

Since  he  has  entered  in  this  open  tract 


28  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  I, 

His  spirit  wavers  :  I  can  see  his  lips 

Move,  as  do  such  that  know  not  if  they  speak. 

There  is  no  better  moment :  I  will  go. 

(He  steps  forth,  and  approaches  DAVID.) 
The  soul  within  me  hither  turns  my  feet, 
And  calls  upon  you.     Guide  me,  help  ;  forgive 
If  that  my  haste  offend  !     I  come  as  he, 
Lame  from  his  birth,  that  shouted,  leapt,  and  ran, 
When  once  the  gentle  touch  had  made  him  whole. 

DAVID. 
(After  a  pause.} 
I  healed  you,  then,  not  knowing. 

NIMROD. 

Marvel  not ! 

There  's  too  much  virtue  in  a  perfect  faith 
To  take  the  measure  of  itself.  You  ARE  ; 
And  what  you  are,  not  knowing,  is  the  power. 

DAVID. 

Nay,  there  !     What  I  invoke  I  cannot  be. 
How  know  you  aught  of  me  ? 

NIMROD. 

Yourself  did  make 

The  revelation.     When  I  saw  your  face 
Rise  from  the  crowd,  I  said  within  my  heart, 
"  There  's  one  will  sign  his  own  free  covenant ! 
He  reaches  high  :  my  arms  are  short  and  strong ; 
But  they  may  touch  the  gifts  within  his  hand." 
You  spake.     I  stood  afar  ;  but  in  my  mouth 
Came  a  sweet  savor,  though  their  husks  and  stones 
Still  harsh  and  heavy  on  my  stomach  sat. 


SCENE  VI.}  THE  PROPHET.  29 

It  needs  no  thousand  words  to  make  acquaint : 

There  's  something  runs  in  souls  more  close  than  blood 

Of  them  that  issue  from  the  selfsame  womb  ; 

And  so  in  yours.     I  will  not  .guess  your  prayer, 

But  its  fulfilment  surely  is  at  hand. 

DAVID  (hastily}. 

Make  no  conjecture  !     Speak  no  further  word  \ 
There  was  a  veil  within  the  Temple  :  grant 
I  may  have  lifted  up  its  awful  folds, 
And  stand,  not  blasted  yet,  nor  consecrate. 

NIMROD. 

So  think  of  me  as  one  that  waits  without, 
Silent,  and  hoping  much.     But,  ere  I  go, 

(Kneels.} 

I  pray  you  lay  your  hands  upon  my  head, 
And  bless  me,  wishing  that  to  my  belief 
Be  added  understanding  ;  to  my  will, 
The  power  to  serve  ;  to  mine  obedience, 
Some  gracious  gift. 

DAVID  (aside). 

How,  then  ?     Without  the  power 
Assume  the  office  ?    Yet  a  blessing  dwells 
Within  the  heart  of  him  that  calls  it  down  ; 
Or  else  he  dare  not. 

(To  NIMROD.) 
As  thou  askest,  so 

May  it  be  given  !     From  laying  here  my  hands 
Expect  no  unction  more  than  I  possess. 

NIMROD  (rising). 
But  more  than  I  am  worthy  to  receive 


30  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  I. 

Is  even  that,  so  filled  am  I  with  light ! 

And  they,  dumb  souls,  who  for  a  single  ray 

Shout  "  Glory  !  "  and  are  saved,  —  how  could  they  bear 

The  flood  that  enters  me  from  you  ?     Farewell ! 

A  part  is  granted  :  you  have  forced  the  gate, 

And  stand  with  dazzled  eyesight.     When  you  see, 

Come  back  to  men. 

[Exit. 

DAVID. 

A  powerful  soul !  and  yet 
Acknowledges  authority  in  me. 
Why  was  I  faint  or  doubtful  ?     Have  I  reached 
Too  high,  perchance,  or  dreamed  commissioned  power 
Should  be  by  signs  and  wonders  heralded, 
Not  as  the  simple  consequence  of  faith  ? 
Faith  is  as  beauty  is  :  no  maiden  feels 
Through  inner  sense  the  glory  of  her  face, 
But  it  shines  back  on  her  from  who  perceives. 
"  With  dazzled  eyesight  ?  "     Darkness  comes  of  that ; 
And  on  the  finished  shrine  He  sank  in  cloud. 
If  power  unconsciously  be  held,  I  climb 
The  while  I  seem  to  beat  a  weary  round  ; 
Possess  authority  beyond  my  sense  ; 
Am  blinded,  yea,  because  so  near  the  light ; 
And  weak,  since  even  now  my  shoulders  bear 
The  unwonted  burden.     Let  the  vision  come  ! 
It  cannot  fail :  the  first  and  largest  star 
Already  glimmers  from  the  expanding  vault, 
And  millions  wait  behind.     So  sure  as  they 
Shall  pierce  the  veil  when  thickest,  even  so 
The  first  faint  lamp  within  a  seeking  soul 
Foretells  the  revelations  crowding  on. 


SCENE  VII.]  THE  PROPHET.  3* 


SCENE  VII. 

A  room  in  the  farmhouse  ;  ELKANAH,  HANNAH,  DAVID, 
RHODA. 

HANNAH. 

I  try  to  understand  you  :  if  I  fail, 

The  heart  your  baby  head  found  comfort  on 

Is  not  to  blame. 

ELKANAH. 

It 's  all  a  waste  of  words  ! 
You  look  for  duty,  and  it 's  asked  of  you  : 
Command,  or  wish,  or  plead,  one  answer  comes,  — 
He  has  "  authority  !  "     So  much  I  've  learned  : 
When  once  a  man  says  that,  you  might  as  soon 
Prevail  upon  a  tortoise  in  the  shell : 
No  words  go  through  it.     I  have  said  my  say. 

DAVID. 

If  I  had  given  you  grief  of  heart  ere  this, 
Sinned  unrepenting,  disobeyed  your  will, 
What  I  have  done  would  bring  rejoicing  now. 
There  's  no  perversity  in  whole  desire, 
Or  the  receiving  of  the  gifts  unused 
Because  unclaimed.     I  could  not  help  but  reach  ; 
Then,  plucking  back  my  hand,  I  found  it  filled. 
What  said  you,  mother,  all  my  years  of  youth, 
But  "  Seek,  and  ye  shall  find  "  ? 

HANNAH. 

I  did,  my  son. 

That  you  have  sought,  I  know  :  that  you  have  found, 
I  will  believe.     But  if  a  healthy  tree, 
Grafted  with  apple,  bearing  apple-flowers, 


32  THE  PROPHET.  [Acr  I. 

Should  after  yield  a  fruit  we  never  saw, 

What  man  would  taste  until  he  knew  it  safe  ? 

Thus  from  the  hope  I  nursed  springs  all  at  once 

A  something  strange,  sheer  wonderment  to  me 

That  gave  your  nature  most.     How  can  I  say 

"  Go  on  !  "  not  knowing  whither,  or,  "  Come  back  !  ' 

Haply  from  good  ? 

RHODA. 

Say  nothing,  then,  but  wait  : 
The  way  is  fixed.     I  know  not  how  I  feel 
His  purpose  ;  yet  I  feel,  and  follow  him. 

DAVID. 

Caught  out  of  darkness,  shall  I  turn  my  back 
Against  the  light?  or,  spent  from  wildering  ways, 
Refuse  the  path  that  makes  my  feet  secure  ? 
I  did  not  seek  my  struggle  :  it  was  there. 
Why,  men  whose  souls  but  burrow  in  their  flesh 
To  feed,  like  worms  in  apples  early  ripe, 
May  say  to  mine  :  Be  fat,  and  be  content ! 
But  me  God  sent  the  butterfly  instead  ; 
And  it  must  flutter  in  the  sun,  or  die. 

PETER  (entering]. 

A  stranger  stands  outside.     He  's  one  of  them, 
It  seems,  that  you,  that  they —  But  come  yourself  : 
Ten  steps  are  easier  than  my  telling  it. 

DAVID. 

What  will  he  ? 

PETER. 

Preaching.     There,  the  word  is  out ! 
You  '11  guess  the  rest. 

[Exit  DAVID. 


SCENE  VII.]  THE  PROPHET.  33 

ELKANAH. 

The  business  just  goes  on 
As  I  expected  !     When  was  notion  bred 
By  mortal  brain,  that  did  not  set  the  tongue 
In  gear,  to  run  full-tilt  ?     He'll  cackle,  too, 
So  long  as  folks  find  something  in  his  egg ; 
Then,  may  be,  when  the  thing's  no  longer  fresh, 
There  '11  be  an  end.     He  sows  religious  oats, 
A  little  heavier  in  the  head,  that  's$lf  J 
But  thorns  and  stony  ground  will  vvaste  the  crop, 
Or  Gospel  words  mean  nothing.      V 

v/*N 

PETER. 

(Aside  to  RHODA.) 

All  the  talk 

(So  this  man  says)  in  our  and  other  towns 
Is  nought  but  David  :  there  's  no  end  of  tales. 
The  moral  of  it  they  don't  rightly  know, 
And  bend  their  ear-flaps,  like  a  restless  horse, 
To  catch  some  new  particular.     If,  now, 
He  has  the  call  to  preach,  they  have  to  hear. 
'T  will  come  to  that. 

{Exit: 
HANNAH. 

I  never  thought  of  you 
As  of  a  daughter,  Rhoda  ;  yet  I  see 
That  in  your  heart  his  ways  are  justified, 
As  in  his  own  yourself.     Men  love  the  will 
That  bends  to  theirs  ;  and  she  who  fain  would  guide 
Must  seem  to  follow.     I  've  directed  him 
Too  long  to  make  a  new,  obsequious  change  : 
The  place  is  yours.     But,  O  my  daughter  (hence 
I  '11  call  you  so),  remember,  never  man, 
Though  gifted,  raised,  and  made  a  power  in  the  world, 
Sufficed  unto  himself  !     Else  he  were  god  ; 
3 


34  THE  PROPHET.  [Acx  1. 

And  she,  the  nearest,  first,  interpreting 
All  womankind  to  him,  he,  men  to  her, 
Is  called,  as  well,  to  claim  her  half  of  truth, 
So  testing  his.     I  may  have  borrowed  care 
Where  it  was  not  intended  :  all  that 's  come 
Is  what  my  natural  sight  had  long  foreseen, 
Were  it  not  partial.     I  must  needs  unloose 
The  precious  bond  of  guidance,  let  him  go, 
And  pray  far-off,  where  once  I  held  him  close, 
And  breathed  my  heart  in  his  believing  ear. 

RHODA. 

Grapes  cannot  come  from  thorns,  but  neither  thorns 

From  fruitful  vines.     It  is  his  blossom-time, 

When  storm  or  sudden  chill  may  stint  the  fruit : 

He  should  be  sheltered.     But  my  speech  is  scant ; 

And  what  I  say  sounds  other  than  I  feel. 

So  new  the  life  is  which  he  brings  to  mine, 

So  strange,  exalted,  I  forget  myself  ; 

And,  when  he  needs  another's  tongue,  I  fail. 

You  love  him,  you  will  shortly  understand. 

I  will  not  take  an  atom  that  was  yours 

In  all  his  thought :  what  he  bestows  on  me 

Is  only  love  ungranted  otherwise. 


SCENE  VIII. 

The  same  as  Scene  V.  Some  of  the  thickets  on  both  sides  of  the 
brook  have  been  roughly  cleared  away.  A  number  of  country  - 
people,  chiefly  men,  are  gathered  in  the  space  thus  made,  — 
some  seated  on  scattered  stones,  and  stumps  of  trees ;  others 
approaching  by  the  footpath  from  below.  Strong  sunshine 
and  heavy  shadow  alternately  ;  an  uncertain  sky,  portending 
storm. 

FIRST   MAN. 

JT  is  a  fool's  errand  that  we  come,  I  fear. 


SCENE  VIII.]  THE  PROPHET.  35 

SECOND. 

He  '11  keep  his  word. 

FIRST. 

Perhaps  ;  but  was  it  given  ? 

THIRD. 

Ay,  given  to  me.     I  offered  him  a  chance 
Open  to  use  or  let  alone  :  he  took 
As  eagerly  as  one  that  in  the  road 
Sees  a  stray  gold-piece. 

SECOND. 

Be  he  cracked  or  sane, 
Four  days,  they  say,  he  fasted  hereabouts, 
Then,  fresh  and  fair,  went  home.     I  'd  not  believe, 
But  for  accounts  of  such  and  stranger  things 
Before  our  time. 

FIRST. 

He  's  nowise  different 
From  you  or  me.  A  little  fresh  conceit, 
Like  yeast,  will  puff  a  brain  above  its  pan. 

THIRD. 

It 's  more  than  that  in  him.    He  looked  straight  through 
The  face  I  had,  and  saw  what  lay  below,  — 
Namely,  no  faith,  but  some  curiosity, 
A  little  fun,  withal ;  I  hardly  know,  — 
And  smiled,  but  in  a  queer,  forgiving  way, 
That  hurt  me  afterwards. 

SECOND. 

Stay,  there  he  comes  ! 
I  mark  no  flighty  or  conceited  airs,  — 
A  plain  young  man,  pale  face,  and  shining  eyes  : 


3 6  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  I. 

He  mounts  the  rock.  See  how  the  sun  comes  out, 
And  strikes  his  head  !  Be  silent,  you  !  Sit  down, 
Make  no  disturbance,  let  him  speak  his  mind  ! 

DAVID. 

(Standing  upon  the  rock,  sings:    RHODA  and  PETER,  below, 
join  in  the  hymn.} 

Oh,  praise  the  Lord,  the  Giver! 

Relieve  His  burdened  hands  ! 
His  miracles  deliver 

The  congregated  lands  : 
He  poureth  as  a  river, 

And  we  but  take  the  sands. 
His  fruitful  boughs  are  shaken  ; 

His  bounties  fall  as  rain  : 
We  sit  with  souls  mistaken, 

In  penitence  and  pain  : 
Awaken,  world,  awaken, 

And  spread  His  feast  again  ! 

SECOND   MAN. 

A  gay  beginning  !     I  could  join  in  that 
With  all  my  voice. 

FIRST. 

They  sing  to  lively  tunes 
In  many  churches. 

THIRD. 

Yes,  but  say,  the  while, 

They  're  stolen  from  the  Devil.     May  be  so  ; 
But  then  the  Devil  must  be  a  jolly  soul, 
And  angels  doleful  as  Begone,  dull  Care  / 

DAVID. 

What  come  ye  out  to  see  ?     A  reed  in  the  wind  ? 
But  if  God's  lips  unto  a  reed  be  set,  — 


SCENE  VIII.]  THE  PROPHET.  37 

The  dryest  one  that  whistles  in  the  marsh,  — 
There  comes  a  music  that  can  soothe  the  world. 
I  make  no  claim  :  I  tried  to  understand 
The  many  promises  that  rust  unused  ; 
And  all  I  asked,  was,  Are  they  granted  yet  ? 
Then,  rising  high  as  agony  of  prayer 
May  lift  a  mortal,  lo  !  the  answer  came. 
Show  me  the  term,  or  limit  !     There  is  none  : 
Restore  conditions,  you  restore  the  power  ; 
And  He  who  waited  for  a  thousand  years 
Will  manifest  His  wonders.     They  who  teach, 
You  say,  are  silent  as  to  this  ?     Why,  then 
Let  them  make  answer  !     Gifts  of  many  tongues, 
Of  healing,  miracle,  and  prophecy, 
Given  to  His  followers,  by  them  to  theirs, 
Are  buried  treasures  for  this  drowsy  race. 
He  offering  helmet,  buckler,  sword,  and  spear,  — 
Armor  of  proof,  —  perchance  a  shepherd's  staff 
We  take,  reluctant,  mendicants  where  He 
Awaits  the  guests  that  know  their  welcome  sure. 
So  dust  and  cobwebs  fill  the  temple  ;  so 
The  cedarn  beams  are  rotted  in  their  place  ; 
The  trumps  and  timbrels  crack,  and  wake  no  more 
The  songs  of  Zion  :  all  is  desolate, 
As  we  were  Israel  that  turned  away  ! 
'T  is  time  a  mighty  wind  should  whirl  the  chaff 
From  idle  threshing-floors  :  my  breath  is  weak, 
So  others  not  increase  it,  yet  thou,  Lord, 
Who  knowest  whether  I  deserve  or  no 
Thy  signs  of  power,  —  who,  should  I  point,  as  now, 
My  finger  at  the  crest  of  yonder  rock, 
And  say,  "  Be  thou  removed  !  "  — 

(A  part  of  the  rock  crashes  down  with  a  great  noise  and  re 
verberation.  Cries  of  terror,  and  much  confusion  among 
the  people.} 


38  THE  PROPHET,  [ACT  I. 

VOICES. 

It  falls  ;  it  falls  ! 

The  world  is  coming  to  an  end  !     He  spake, 
And  it  obeyed  !     A  prophet,  yea,  a  prophet ! 

DAVID. 
( Who  has  remained  qitietly  standing  iipon  the  rock,  pale  and 

rapt.} 

Be  not  afraid  !     The  power  that  works  within, 
If  it  but  shiver  down  one  crumbling  edge 
Of  old  indifference,  is  mightier  yet. 
Therefore,  I  take  it  from  His  open  hand, 
Who  made  yon  stones  to  fall.     I  hurl  on  you 
His  arrows,  and  the  shining  of  his  spear  : 
I  bid  believe,  not  me,  but  what,  renewed, 
In  me  is  manifest:  I  call  you  back 
From  pools  made  muddy  by  the  paddling  feet 
Of  darkened  generations,  to  the  fount 
He  cleft,  now  gushing  in  a  desert  land. 
He  waits,  how  long  !     His  summons,  day  by  day  — 
( Thunder  and  lightning.} 

VOICES. 

We  do  believe  you.     Turn  His  wrath  away  ! 
A  Prophet,  yea,  a  Prophet ! 

DAVID. 

There  He  spake, 

Doubt  not,  as  oft  of  old,  —  but  now  attend 
The  voice  within  you,  which  is  He  indeed. 
Oh  !  spread  Thy  banners  on  the  streaming  wind, 
Come  as  the  Morning,  broaden  as  the  Day, 
Fill  the  dark  places  with  Thy  healing  light ; 
And,  once  Thy  reign  assured,  cast  me  aside, 


SCENE  VIII.]  THE  PROPHET.  39 

So  glorified  in  mine  unworthiness, 

Because  I  saw  when  Thou  didst  touch  mine  eyes  ! 

Come,  now,  in  thunder  and  the  clouds  of  heaven, 

And  purifying  cisterns  of  the  rain, 

To  wash  Thy  world,  and  fit  it  for  the  sun  ! 

Thy  day  is  near  at  hand  :  the  glory  shed 

With  all  Thy  promises  shall  doubled  be 

On  all  Thy  gifts  ! 

(A  storm  arises,  —  thunder,  wind,  and  rain.) 

VOICES. 
A  Prophet,  yea,  a  Prophet 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I. 

Afternoon.  The  crest  of  a  rise,  or  swell,  in  a  broad  prairie. 
To  the  westward,  in  the  distance,  a  line  of  timber,  denoting 
the  course  of  a  stream  ;  a  train  of  emigrant-wagons  scattered 
along  the  road  thither.  On  the  crest  a  solitary  wagon,  its 
canvas  cover  partly  folded  back.  DAVID  and  RHODA,  with  a 
child  in  her  lap,  seated  in  it ;  PETER  standing  at  the  horses' 
heads. 


Y 


RHODA. 

OU  'RE  weary,  husband  :  is  it  far  to  camp  ? 


DAVID. 

Two  hours,  —  to  yonder  smoky  line  of  trees. 
The  signs  of  heaven  are  fair :  the  earth  believes 
In  them,  and,  glad  as  any  living  thing, 
Smiles  far  and  wide.     The  sky  is  larger  here, 
And  brighter  ;  other  life  is  in  the  winds  ; 
The  grass  is  lost  beneath  the  waste  of  flowers  : 
It  is  our  promised  land. 

RHODA. 

At  last ! 

DAVID. 

Ah,  me  ! 

This  weight  and  perilous  sinking  of  the  heart, 
That  ever  looks  before,  or  stubbornly 


SCENE  I.]  THE  PROPHET.  4* 

Tastes  the  o'ercome  distresses  of  the  past ! 
I  gave  the  guidance  of  my  mind  away, 
To  be  uplifted  :  now,  on  lower  things,  — 
On  trial,  parting,  woe  of  ignorant  love,  — 
I  dwell,  as  were  they  shadows  coming  on. 

PETER  (sings). 
We  are  swallows  seeking  the  land  of  spring  : 

We  are  faint,  we  have  far  to  roam  : 
When  shall  we  fold  the  weary  wing, 
Lord,  in  Thy  promised  home  ? 
Home  ! 
We  are  bound  for  the  promised  home  ! 

DAVID. 

How  is  it  that  I  still  upbear  their  souls  ? 

The  land,  the  temple,  and  His  coming  reign, 

Through  me  and  their  acceptance  of  my  power, 

Fill  and  content  them  :  I  should  be  content, 

If  human  memories  were  not  obstinate 

As  human  needs.     Do  you  remember  still 

The  day  that  tried  me  most,  and  mother's  words,  — 

"  I  cannot  follow  you,  and  dare  not  hold  : 

Farewell  !  we  shall  not  meet  on  earth  again  ?  " 

What  I  obeyed  expunged  the  seeming  wrong, 

But  not  its  lingering  sense  ;  for  while  the  wind 

Blows  softly  over  these  unpeopled  plains, 

And  in  the  middle  watches  of  the  night, 

And  when  the  young  birds  cheep  their  wish  for  morn, 

I  hear  her  say,  and  see  her  tearless  eyes,  — 

"  I  cannot  follow  you,  and  dare  not  hold  : 

Farewell !  we  shall  not  meet  on  earth  again." 


42  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  II. 

RHODA. 

(Bending  over  her  child.) 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep  !     The  wind  will  blow  the  flowers, 
The  trees  will  drop  their  berries,  all  for  thee  ! 

PETER  (sings). 

We  will  build  the  temple  broad  and  high, 
And  crowned  with  a  golden  dome ; 

For  the  day  of  the  Lord  is  surely  nigh, 
When  we  reach  the  promised  home. 
Home  ! 
We  shall  dwell  in  the  promised  home  ! 

DAVID. 

They  shame  me,  who  have  also  left  their  all, 

Save,  nurtured  with  an  easier  hope,  they  bear 

A  lighter  sorrow  ;  yet  as  day  by  day 

Their  hosts  increase,  so  mounts  the  sum  of  faith. 

There  was  a  woman  came,  a  week  agone, 

To  hear  my  message  :  on  the  outer  edge 

Of  those  few  gathered  in  the  dusky  hall 

She  sat,  and  fixed  me  with  her  wondrous  eyes. 

At  first  I  said,  'T  is  Mary  Magdalen, 

When  sin  forgiven  still  left  her  virtue  sad  ; 

But,  kindled  with  my  words,  the  while  I  drew 

A  picture  of  the  Kingdom,  she  became 

Queen  Esther,  as  in  Shushan's  royal  house 

She  touched  the  sceptre,  —  proud,  obedient, 

Sure  of  the  end.     A  power  came  forth  from  her, 

As  if  of  wings  companioning  mine  own. 

Can  she  believe,  nor  follow  ? 

RHODA. 

Rather  think 


SCENE  I.]  THE  PROPHET.  43 

On  these  your  faithful  flock.     If  she  have  power, 
Indeed,  the  greater  sin  of  pride  is  hers, 
Whose  gold  and  gay  apparel  are  her  gods. 

DAVID   (musingly}. 

The  light  of  guidance  never  was  so  clear 
And  then  deceived  :  what  instruments  I  have  — 
Rough  hands  of  workmen,  by  whose  awkward  use 
The  gifts  almost  become  a  mockery  — 
Still  leave  me  helpless  when  the  finer  sense 
Would  snatch  from  floating  lines  a  plan  supreme. 
There  must  be  law,  pure  discipline  of  lives, 
Foundations  set,  and  pleasant  sheepfolds  made 
In  desolate  places.     Ah  !  were  only  one 
But  near  me,  bathed  in  equal  bliss  of  faith, 
To  see,  where  I  am  dazzled,  and  to  say, 
"  Build  higher  !  here  enlarge  the  pillared  front, 
There  push  thy  climbing  pinnacles  aloft !  " 
Even  light  is  lonely  to  a  human  soul. 
Two  glories  are  there  ;  and  but  one  they  know, 
Save  her  who  saw,  then  closed  reluctant  eyes. 

RHODA. 

Can  you  be  faint  of  spirit  while  by  you 
We  all  are  led  ?     Then  is  the  body  weak, 
And  rest  will  be  your  medicine. 

DAVID  (to  PETER). 

Go  on  ! 

PETER. 

(Driving  onward,  sings.) 
The  bolts  of  the  Lord  shall  fall  and  burn 
On  Babylon  and  on  Rome  ; 


44  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  II. 

But  the  chosen  seed  shall  safe  return, 
To  dwell  in  His  promised  home. 
Home  ! 
We  have  found  His  promised  home ! 


SCENE  II. 

Night.  A  camp  on  the  banks  of  a  small  stream.  Men,  women, 
and  children  grouped  about  fires  under  the  trees.  In  the  cen 
tre  a  tent,  before  which  a  pole,  stuck  in  the  earth,  bears  a 
blazing  torch.  Outside  of  the  camp  a  guard  is  heard  to  chal 
lenge  some  one  approaching.  After  the  pass-word,  "  Zion," 
enter  NIMROD  KRAFT.  He  dismounts  from  his  horse,  and 
draws  near  the  tent. 


NIMROD. 


Hail,  Prophet  David  !     Grace  and  blessing  be 
To  all  the  chosen  ! 

DAVID. 

Be  the  words  fulfilled  ! 
You  come  beforehand,  like  the  dove,  to  say 
The  waters  settle,  and  the  olive-tree 
Puts  forth  new  leaves.     We  shall  possess  the  land. 

NIMROD. 

We  do  possess  it.     On  the  highest  bluff 
That  overlooks  full  twenty  miles  of  stream, 
Now  stand  a  hundred  cabins  :  we  have  staked 
The  streets,  first  measured  with  the  holy  reed, 
And  broken  cornfields  from  the  stubborn  sod, 
And  set  young  gardens  round  about  the  place, 
That  much  do  flourish.     Every  work  is  blessed  : 
Even  the  quarry-stones  come  loose  in  squares, 
As  if  they  hastened  to  be  lifted  up, 
And  made  the  temple. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  PROPHET.  45 

DAVID. 

Ah  !  when  once  it  stands, 
A  visible  sign,  a  shelter  for  our  ark  ! 

NIMROD. 

Even  so  we  f  jel.     They  give  their  tithing-time 
In  faith  and  in  rejoicing  :  I  have  used 
The  power  you  delegated  to  my  hands, 
Sifted  the  wheat,  and  sent  some  chaff  adrift, 
Fixed  ordered  rule,  exacted  industry, 
And  so  blocked  roughly  out  what  you  may  shape 
To  pure  proportions  :  as  my  work  below 
Grows  up,  may  yours  complete  it  from  above  ! 

DAVID. 

Let  all  the  frame-work  needful  for  our  flock, 
As  shelter,  or  enclosing  law,  be  raised, 
And  quickly  !     I  have  given  you  the  Twelve  ; 
Yet  they  debate,  methinks,  or  seek  to  know 
Who  shall  sit  highest. 

NIMROD. 

Thus  it  was  of  old. 

Your  headship  must  remain  ;  for  you  alone 
Possess  direct  commission.     Let  them  see  — 
They  whom  your  messengers  found  here  and  there, 
And,  not  beholding,  none  the  less  believe  — 
What  power  is  yours.     A  little  thing  's  enough. 

DAVID. 

What  mean  you  ? 

NIMROD. 

Well,  I  find  it  natural. 
Your  coming  will  be  made  a  holy  day  ; 
For  all  shall  then  be  gathered  as  a  brood 


46  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  II 

Beneath  your  wings.     And  something  they  expect, 

Some  sign,  or  show,  as  reconfirming  faith  ; 

Or  revelation,  such  as  ignorant  souls 

Gape  at  and  glory  in.     None  promised  this  : 

But  they  believe,  and  therefore  they  expect. 

DAVID. 

When  I  was  small,  I  planted  once  a  tree, 
Then  every  second  morning  plucked  it  up 
To  see  if  it  were  growing.     Summer  came  ; 
And  while  the  others,  left  alone,  were  green, 
Mine  pined  and  perished.     Give  the  flock,  instead, 
This  parable. 

NIMROD. 

They  would  not  understand. 
Transplanted  faith  (let  me  the  rather  say) 
Needs  watering,  shelter,  all  the  gardener's  care, 
Till  it  be  rooted.     Ponder  this  yourself. 
Put  on  your  sandals  ;  leave  the  holier  ground, 
And  walk  in  dust  among  the  multitude  : 
So  shall  you  feel  their  need. 

DAVID. 

I  never  asked 

But  what  is  offered  freely  unto  all. 
There  is  no  flame,  it  seems,  that  of  itself 
Will  burn  in  earthly  air  ;  but,  then,  is  flame, 
When  fed  from  coarser  aliment,  less  pure  ? 
Water  pollutes  itself  from  what  is  washed  ; 
But  fire  takes  up  its  own,  and  spurns  the  dross. 
If  that  were  possible  to  me  ? 

NIMROD. 

Yourself 
Shall  winnow,  with  a  finer  fan  than  ours, 


SCENE  II.]  THE  PROPHET.  47 

Whom  we  have  gathered.     All  is  ready,  else. 
I  will  not  keep  your  body  from  its  rest. 
With  Hugh  and  Jonas,  members  of  the  Twelve, 
I  must  consult,  so  portioning  the  homes, 
That  none  shall  mark  advantage  of  the  rest. 
The  flock  is  jealous  :  softly  on  the  nose 
Must  we  pat  every  sheep,  as  well  as  feed. 

[Exit. 

DAVID. 

( To  RHODA,  who  has  overheard  the  dialogue.} 
There  goes  a  sense  with  which  I  cannot  strive, 
So  well  it  builds,  and  so  obediently  ; 
Yet  power  is  lessened  when  it  touches  me. 

RHODA. 

I  did  not  like  the  man,  when  he —  I  mean 
His  hardness  first  repelled  ;  but  now,  perhaps, 
He  is  the  coarser  fuel,  you  the  flame  ; 
And  each  may  need  the  other.     I,  too,  feel 
That  they  which  follow,  never  having  seen, 
Deserve  a  sign. 

DAVID. 
If  so,  the  Lord  will  send. 

[Exit  into  the  tent. 
RHODA. 

Not  their  belief,  but  who  it  is  believes, 
Gives  him  support.     That  was  a  happy  time, 
When  we  alone  went  wandering  through  the  land  ; 
For  few  could  jeer,  though  many  sore  abused  ; 
And  ever  here  and  there  a  soul  was  caught 
Out  from  the  Gentiles,  and  was  glad  with  us  ; 
And  Zion  with  its  temple  shone  afar, 
More  beautiful,  I  think,  than  now  at  hand. 


4§  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  II. 

I  must  not  murmur  :  we  are  verily  blessed, 
Put  past  the  reach  of  persecuting  hands, 
And  guided  so,  that  this  fair  wilderness 
Already  bears  the  roses  as  we  pass. 


SCENE  III. 

Another  part  of  the  camp.    NIMROD,  HUGH,  and  JONAS,  seated 
near  a  fire. 

HUGH. 

He  will  not,  think  you  ? 

NIMROD. 

Nay,  I  said  not  that. 

I  only  charge  that  nothing  be  proclaimed; 
Then  whatsoever  come,  if  so  it  come, 
Will  have  more  operation.     See,  the  flock 
Is  over-hungry  for  continual  signs  ; 
Which,  could  they  be  bespoken,  would  be  nought 
But  independence  of  the  Lord. 

JONAS. 

Maybe. 

But  I  that  chose  the  gift  of  healing,  I 
That  have  obeyed  in  all  things,  I  should  heal ! 
If  he  must  husband  up  his  power  to  spend 
On  higher  miracles,  enough  is  mine 
For  lesser  work  :  so  strengthen,  then,  my  hands, 
That  they  on  whom  I  lay  them  shall  be  whole. 

NIMROD. 

The  wish  may  choose  :  possession  comes  by  faith. 
Know  surely  that  you  have  it,  and  you  have. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  PROPHET.  49 

JONAS. 

How  know  without  a  test  ? 

NIMROD. 

Ah  !  there  you  lack 

The  last  anointing  ;  there  the  prophet  stands 
Transparent  in  his  own  internal  light, 
While  yours  is  cloudy  still.     When  you  foresee 
The  healing  of  your  hands,  your  hands  will  heal. 

HUGH. 

So  works  the  gift  ?     But,  if  his  foresight  be 
Indeed  so  perfect,  it  were  well  to  say, 
As  cheer  to  some,  and  guidance  unto  all, 
This  member  strays,  that  rises  ;  these  receive, 
Or  lose,  —  that  our  authority  be  firm: 
For  such  picked  out  for  higher  reach  of  faith 
Will  stand,  supporting  us,  above  the  rest. 

NIMROD. 

First  show  them  patience  !     Gathered  here  and  there, 

The  dust  of  other  life  upon  their  shoes, 

The  stagnant  blood  of  other  creeds  not  yet 

Purged  from  their  veins,  the  Gentile  taunt  still  loud 

In  ear  and  memory,  restless  from  the  change 

And  long  privation  of  the  pilgrimage, 

They  hear  but  halfly  :  we  must  give  them  rest, 

Fitting  their  shoulders  to  an  easy  yoke, 

Filling  their  cribs,  and  warmly  bedding  them, 

Till  they  will  rather  serve  within  our  fold 

Than  rule  outside  of  it. 

JONAS. 

Is  all  prepared 
4 


50  THE  PROPHET.  [Acr  II. 

For  us  who  come  ?     The  people  hear  of  those 
Who,  first  arriving,  may  be  better  placed. 

NIMROD. 

I  did  not  take  my  gift  of  prophecy 
In  vain  :  so  ye  declare  it  unto  all, 
Contentment  waits  for  woman,  man,  and  child  ; 
But  to  yourselves  I  promise  more  belief. 
Go,  hither  bring  the  tally  of  your  men  : 
My  work  is  yet  unfinished. 

[Exit  HUGH  and  JONAS. 
All  alike  ! 

No  one  is  certain  that  he  has  the  power, 
Unless  his  neighbor  says  so.     Tell  them,  then, 
They  govern,  governing  myself  the  while. 
So  far  were  easy  :  yet  from  him  comes  forth 
The  fire  that  makes  their  dull  cold  metal  bend ; 
And  when  to  kindle  it  is  in  his  will, 
Not  mine.     He  has  a  look  of  weariness, 
And  out  of  languor  comes  no  miracle. 
But  oft,  from  very  expectation,  springs 
The  thing  expected,  if  a  cooler  skill 
Command  the  heat  of  others.     What  she  plans  — 
If  anything,  indeed  —  I  cannot  guess  ; 
Not  even  whether  like  or  dislike  looked 
From  eyes  that  only  seemed  to  hide  her  thought. 
Turn  either  way,  I  'm  poking  in  the  dark. 
Well,  well  !  the  morrow  is  the  clearer  day. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  PROPHET.  51 


SCENE  IV.  —  THE  CITY. 

A  street  on  a  high,  airy  plateau,  overlooking  the  course  of  a 
great  river.  In  the  centre  stand  the  unfinished  walls  of  the 
temple  ;  opposite  to  them  a  house  larger  than  the  others,  its 
front  hung  with  garlands,  and  an  arch  of  green  boughs  span 
ning  the  entrance.  The  people,  several  hundred  in  number, 
are  drawn  up  in  lines  on  both  sides  of  the  street,  with  branches 
in  their  hands.  Shouts  are  heard  in  the  distance,  announc 
ing  the  arrival  of  the  train  :  then  DAVID  appears  on  horse 
back,  a  little  in  advance,  bare-headed,  and  wearing  a  long 
white  mantle :  the  people  cast  their  branches  before  him. 

HYMN. 

We  have  left  the  land  of  Egypt 

For  the  place  of  our  desire: 
Fallen  is  the  gated  city, 

And  the  woe  thereof  is  dire  : 
The  boughs  of  the  tree  are  withered, 

And  the  women  set  them  on  fire  ! 

Lo  !  who  is  he  that  cometh 

In  the  name  of  the  Holy  One  ? 
The  bearers  of  gladsome  tidings 

Before  his  pathway  run  : 
He  bringeth  us  out  of  darkness, 

As  the  star  that  brings  the  sun. 

( The  women  step  forward  on  each  side,  and  sing,  LIVIA  ROM- 
NEY,  with  a  crown  in  her  hand,  standing  in  the  midst.} 

Hail,  all  hail,  to  the  prophet, 

Whose  reign  begins  to-day  ! 
Who  hath  laid  his  firm  foundations 

In  the  dust  of  the  world's  decay  : 
He  maketh  the  dry  bough  blossom  ; 

He  gathers  the  sheep  that  stray. 


52  THE  PROPHET.  [Ad  II. 

DAVID  (aside). 

It  is  herself  !     How  beautiful  she  stands, 
Forgetful  of  the  stare  of  wondering  eyes, 
And  filled  with  promise  of  mysterious  power  ! 
She  's  Miriam  now,  and  sings  deliverance. 
I  breathe  again  :  the  weight  falls  off  my  soul, 
As  poising  rocks  are  started  by  a  sound  ; 
And  I  am  glad  and  strong  for  what  may  come. 

LIVIA. 
( Stepping  forward. ) 

Thrice  hail,  O  Prophet !     Bow  but  once  before 
Thy  humble  handmaid,  not  as  honoring  her, 
But  that  she  reach  thy  consecrated  brow. 

(DAVID  bends  down  his  head:  she  places  the  crown  upon  it.) 

Forgive  me,  that,  when  first  I  did  believe, 

I  failed  to  follow  :  thus  it  came  to  pass 

I  went  before  to  seal  mine  evidence, 

Lest  that  were  vain  which  I  would  ask  of  thee. 

HUGH. 
(  To  NlMROD.) 

Who  is  the  woman  ? 

NIMROD. 

More  than  is  her  name 
I  cannot  say.     'T  is  but  four  days  ago 
She  landed  from  the  river.     Worldly  store 
She  seems  to  have,  and  knowledge  of  the  world, 
Notable  cunning  of  the  hand  and  eye, 
And  influence  with  her  sex  —  perhaps  with  ours. 
Foremost  in  planning  this  array  was  she  ; 
Went  here  and  there  ;  was  always  first  and  last ; 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  PROPHET.  53 

And  therefore  fell  to  her,  by  proper  right, 
The  place  she  wanted. 

DAVID. 
(After  a  pause.} 

Thou  art  one  of  us. 

There  is  no  high  or  low  :  each  bows  to  each 
In  whom  the  Spirit  lives.     I  saw  thy  faith, 
And  called  thee  :  well  it  was  that  thou  didst  hear. 
Not  they  who  yield  when  buffeted  by  words, 
And  shaken  by  the  signs,  but  they  who  feel, 
Like  wandering  birds,  where  lies  the  summer-land, 
And  strike  their  way  across  the  printless  air, 
Build  up  the  kingdom.     Thine  obedience 
Is  as  a  soil  for  planting  of  the  power. 
What  is  it  thou  wouldst  ask  ? 

LIVIA. 

The  gift  of  tongues. 

DAVID. 

(After  looking  in  her  face  a   moment,   beckons.      She  comes 

nearer.} 

Take  thou  the  gift,  in  measure  as  thy  faith 
Shall  justify,  and  even  so  exercise  ! 

LIVIA. 

(Steps  back  a  pace,  keeping  her  eyes  fixed  on  DAVID.  She  rises 
to  her  full  height,  with  uplifted  head,  and  points  towards  the 
temple.} 

Ai'ro  pam<£tha  loyddr  dndis  abarka  ! 

(Movements  and  murmurs  among  the  people.} 

A  MAN. 
What  tongue  is  that  ? 


54  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  II. 

A  SECOND. 

It  must  be  ancient  Greek, 
Or  Hebrew,  maybe,  as  Isaiah  spoke. 
The  sound  is  glorious. 

A   THIRD. 

Never  did  I  hear 

Such  mighty  words.     Our  preacher  once  came  down 
With  "  Armageddon,  Pandemonium,  Baal ;  " 
But  they  were  nought  to  hers. 

THE   FIRST. 

'T  is  prophecy ! 
He  understands  :  his  face  is  like  a  flame. 

LIVIA. 
Ora"thmed6n  ddra,  bdnnorim  ddra  slaVo  ! 

DAVID. 
(Rapidly  and  eagerly,} 

It  shall  arise  !     The  tempests  of  the  world 

Shall  not  prevail  against  it !     Every  stone 

Shall  testify  !  — from  its  completed  towers 

A  light  go  forth  till  darkened  Edom  sees  ; 

And  here,  even  here,  where  our  Shechina  stands, 

When  all  mankind  is  gathered  to  our  fold, 

Shall  angels  plant  the  ladder  of  the  Lord 

For  his  descending  !     Be  ye  not  as  them 

That  craved  new  signs,  and  were  rebuked  of  Him  ! 

Who  feeleth  not  the  presence  of  the  power 

Above  us,  in  us,  moving  in  our  works, 

And  only  sparing  insomuch  as  saves 

From  easy  heart,  slack  will,  and  idle  hand, 

Let  him  go  forth  ! 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  PROPHET.  55 

CRIES    OF   THE   PEOPLE. 

Nay,  nay,  we  will  abide  ! 

DAVID. 

Forget  that  you  have  ever  lived  ere  now  ! 
As  strips  the  serpent  her  uneasy  skin, 
And  comes  forth  new  and  shining,  cast  ye  out 
Old  hopes  and  hates,  old  passions  and  desires  ! 
Be  as  a  fallow  field  that  waits  new  seed  : 
Take  rain  and  sunshine  in  their  times  ;  lie  bare 
To  the  invisible  influence  of  heaven  ; 
And  be  assured  from  your  warm  breast  shall  spring 
The  holy  harvest !     Ye  have  welcomed  me 
With  faithful  hearts  and  voices  :  so,  henceforth 
No  more  as  one  that  in  the  wilderness 
Cries  to  the  stocks  and  stones,  shall  I  be  heard, 
But  as  a  father  'mid  his  children  teach, 
And  as  a  brother  'mid  his  brethren  love, 
And  as  one  chosen  lead  ye  all  to  share 
An  equal  power  and  glory. 

THE   PEOPLE. 

Hail,  all  hail ! 

NIMROD. 
( Coming  forward. ) 

Here  is  your  home  :  by  her  on  whom  the  tongue 
Descended  at  your  bidding,  it  was  dressed. 
The  humble  house  is  like  a  bride  that  waits 
The  bridegroom's  coming  :  enter,  and  be  blessed  ! 
I,  and  my  brethren  of  the  Twelve,  have  charge 
That  all,  ere  nightfall,  shall  be  snugly  housed, 
New  brethren  mixed  with  old,  but  in  such  peace 
And  kindly  fellowship,  as,  until  now, 
Hath  not  been  witnessed,  to  the  world's  disgrace  ! 


5 6  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  II. 

THE   WOMEN. 

(At  a  sign  from  LiviA,  sing.) 
Make  haste,  Beloved  of  Zion  ! 

The  porch  and  the  chamber  shine : 
We  have  gathered  the  myrrh  and  manna, 

And  filled  the  flagons  with  wine  : 
Now  comfort  the  souls  of  thy  daughters, 

As  the  Lord  shall  comfort  thine. 

(DAVID  waits,  standing  tinder  the  arch,  while  PETER  assists 
RHODA  to  alight  from  the  wagon. ) 

PETER. 

Well,  here 's  the  end  !     Our  Zion  's  rather  bare, 
But  makes  a  good  beginning. 

RHODA. 
(Giving him  her  child.) 

Carry  him, 

But  hold  him  gently  :  he  is  tired  and  scared. 
I,  too,  am  wearier  than  I  thought  to  be, 
And  hardly  happy  in  beholding  home 
Till  I  possess  it.     David,  come  with  me  ! 

[  They  enter  the  house. 


SCENE  V. 

The  council-room.    Night.    NIMROD  KRAFT,  HUGH,  JONAS, 

SIMEON,  and  two  other  members  of  the  Twelve. 

NIMROD. 

All  now  are  housed  and  sleeping  :  first  their  souls 
Were  satisfied,  and  then  their  bodies  soothed. 
On  this  rock  must  we  build.     The  arch  of  truth 
Requires  abutments  in  the  life  of  flesh  : 
It  cannot  hang  in  air.     See,  therefore,  ye, 


SCENE  V.]  THE  PROPHET.  57 

That  these  the  weak  foundations  of  our  state 

Be  firmer  settled.     Scourge  the  drones  away; 

Over  the  labor  needful  unto  each 

Be  labor  added  for  the  sake  of  all ; 

Let  him  whose  lips  are  not  anoint  believe 

With  hand  and  sinew  ! 

JONAS. 

If  the  hand  should  doubt  ? 
Equality  of  service  and  of  power 
Was  promised  them  ;  and  many  bear  the  yoke 
As  they  that  seem  to  stoop,  and  mean  to  spring. 

NIMROD. 

Equality  ?     Yes,  were  there  equal  faith  ! 
Not  yet  dare  I  to  measure  mine  by  his, 
The  Prophet's,  since  the  token  lies  in  power. 
They  sleep  ;  we  watch  for  them  :  why,  let  them  watch, 
And  we  will  sleep  ! 

SIMEON. 

Then  wolves  would  rend  the  fold. 
The  new  life  must  begin  :  he  spake  the  word. 
It  will  be  hard  ;  but  we  submit  to  him, 
And  they  not  more  so,  in  obeying  us. 

JONAS. 

How  far  will  he  concede  ?     The  government, 
Scarce  framed  as  yet,  will  he  alone  direct, 
Uncounselled,  or  be  led  to  side  with  them 
Who,  standing  nearest,  easier  prevail  ? 
Whence  comes  decision,  when  opinions  clash  ? 

NIMROD. 

By  revelation. 


58  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  II. 

SIMEON. 
May  it  come  at  need  ! 

HUGH. 

We,  the  apostles  of  the  wandering  church, 
Should  be,  of  right,  foundations  here. 

NIMROD. 

He  takes, 

Lifts  up,  or  sets  aside.     You  know  my  work, 
If  it  be  good.     I  never  thought  to  say, 
"  Reward  me  !  "  but  whatever  implement,  — 
Scythe-blade,  or  sword,  or  knife  that  scullions  use,  — 
His  hand  has  need  of,  he  will  find  me  that  ! 

JONAS. 

(Aside  to  HUGH.) 

When  one  is  sword  already,  sharpened  too, 
The  offer 's  glibly  made. 

NIMROD. 

I  say  but  this  : 

It  was  my  providence  to  know  him  first, 
To  see  descending  on  him,  like  a  flame, 
The  Spirit :  near,  because  alone,  I  stood, 
But  am  less  near  than  he  who  more  believes. 
What  use  of  prying  words  ?     'T  is  signs  we  need, 
Accord  of  all,  the  temple-walls  complete 
With  roof  and  pinnacle,  the  shrine  set  up, 
Symbolic  vessels,  altar,  veil,  and  ark, 
New  psalms  of  praise,  and  joyfulness  of  hymns. 
All  this  made  visible,  their  faith  is  firm, 
And  their  impatient  thoughts,  now  floating  loose 
In  every  wind,  will  settle,  and  have  rest. 

[Exit  HUGH,  JONAS,  and  others. 


SCENE  V.]  THE  PROPHET. 

SIMEON. 

You  touched  his  secret  sore,  —  I  name 

Kept  tender,  as  I  guess,  by  discontent 

Of  womankind.     You  've  seen  the  kind  of  wife 

That  never  wholly  justifies  the  man, 

And,  when  he  follows,  straightway  shifts  her  mind 

To  make  new  disagreement :  such  is  she. 

With  brethren  one  must  be  considerate, 

As  you  have  been  ;  but  those,  whom  now  he  makes 

Apostles,  should  not  wear  a  home-made  bit. 

That  I  am  widowed,  nigh  a  blessing  seems, 

Though  mine  respected  me. 

NIMROD. 

The  words  I  spake 

Were  but  the  Prophet's  unpronounced  desires. 
I  am  the  nearest  yet,  because  I  keep 
A  circle  round  him  clear  and  unprofaned, 
That  so  his  soul  be  tempered  to  receive 
Continual  revelations.     They  mistake 
Probation,  preparation,  for  the  end  ; 
But  that  which  draws  the  few  is  not  enough 
To  sow  infection  in  the  blood  of  all, 
And  overcome  the  world.     Much  more  awaits, 
And  grander  :  are  you  as  the  fallow  earth  ? 

SIMEON. 

Yea,  passive  as  a  field  the  sower  treads. 

NIMROD. 

'Tis  well :  till  he  shall  order  otherwise, 
Be  led  by  me  !     Go,  now,  and  counterwork 
The  small  dissensions  :  I  have  other  tasks. 
It  was  a  wonderous  sign  that  heralded 
The  Prophet's  coming  :  keep  the  wonder  fresh 


60  THE  PROPHET.  |Acr  II. 

In  all,  yet  raise  not  wild  and  over-wrought 
Expectancy  of  more.     The  woman's  power 

Renews  another  ancient  virtue  lost, 

Zion  shall  have  its  prophetess  !     I  go 
To  give  my  homage,  and  to  arm  for  us 
A  Deborah,  —  a  chief tainess  of  the  faith. 


SCENE  VI. 

A  room  in  the  PROPHET'S  house.  RHODA  seated  near  the 
window,  sewing;  the  baby  asleep  in  a  cradle  at  her  feet; 
DAVID  at  a  desk,  looking  over  some  papers. 

DAVID. 

The  man  must  have  commission  from  the  Lord, 
To  plan  such  perfect  system  :  not  the  bees 
Get  wax  and  honey,  build  their  brittle  combs, 
And  organize  their  kingdom  of  the  hive, 
So  faultlessly.     My  loss  of  power  through  him 
Was  but  a  fancy  bred  of  weariness  ; 
For  what  he  asked  of  my  unwilling  soul 
Came,  half  a  marvel  to  myself. 

RHODA. 

I,  too, 

Have  thought  him  hard  :  he  lacked  your  sweeter  fire. 
Yet  surely  something  kindly  planned  this  home, 
Not  chance,  to  give  the  dear  familiar  rooms 
We  first  were  happy  in.     Young  trees  are  set, 
Like  children  of  the  old  ones  following  us, 
In  the  same  places,  by  the  southern  porch  ; 
And  in  the  garden  —  foolishly  I  cried 
To  find  the  cushions  of  the  mountain-pink 
And  yellow-flags,  and  fragrant  southern-wood. 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  PROPHET.  6 1 

Can  this  again  be  taken  ?     Will  there  come 
Aught  to  disturb  us  ? 

DAVID. 

Nay,  it  cannot  be. 

We  build  too  surely  :  we  are  set  alone 
In  a  new  land.     Why  should  the  Gentiles  mock 
The  boasted  precedent  whereon  they  build, 
Their  right  of  conscience,  by  molesting  us  ? 

(Enter  PETER.) 
PETER. 

The  town  is  ringing  with  the  miracle. 

Whether  't  was  Hebrew,  or  the  sort  of  tongue 

That  Adam  spoke,  they  're  not  exactly  sure  ; 

But  'twas  a  prophecy,  and  will  fulfil. 

Then,  since  it  seems  there  's  here  and  there  a  man 

Talks  Dutch,  or  French,  or  maybe  Cherokee,  — 

They  're  all  as  one  to  them  that  never  learned,  — 

She  understood  'em  !     'T  was  a  coming  down 

Of  tongues,  they  say,  just  like  what  happened  once 

Away  in  Mesopotamia. 

DAVID. 

Given  at  need  ! 

By  this  I  know  the  woman's  lofty  faith, 
And  eminence  of  prayer.     Why,  save  myself, 
Not  one  hath  been  so  visited.     New  flames 
Circling  mine  own,  kindled  in  souls  like  hers, 
Will  help  fend  off  the  slow,  devouring  chill 
That  from  the  fiend  is  blown. 

RHODA. 

I  thought  her  strange, 
Scarce  one  of  us,  so  grand  and  beautiful 


62  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  II. 

And  unabashed.     I  should  be  grateful,  though, 
She  drew  away  so  many  eyes  that  else 
Had  stared  in  wonder  I  should  be  your  wife. 

PETER. 

They  say,  in  getting  up  the  welcome-home, 
And  such  pontificals,  she  steered  the  raft. 
Willing  or  not,  or  knowing  things  or  not, 
All,  somehow,  lent  a  hand  :  she  had  a  way 
To  make  them  satisfied  with  what  they  did. 
Talk  of  the  —  well,  it  nearly  slipped  that  time  — 

Of  her.  and  she  appears. 

{Exit. 

RHODA  (aside.) 

I  cannot  stir, 

Lest  baby  wake  ;  and  sure  my  place  is  here  ; 
Yet  would  that  she  were  come  and  gone  again  ! 
(LlViA  enters:  she  is  simply  but  elegantly  dressed  in  a  black 
silk  robe,  and  wears  a  white  veil  upon  her  head.) 

DAVID. 

( Taking  her  hand) 

Be  welcome,  sister  !     If  I  thank  you  less 
For  honor  paid  than  for  unstinted  faith, 
I  most  am  grateful. 

LIVIA. 

What  I  fain  had  said 

Falls  back  upon  my  heart  as  hollow  sound. 
Your  soul  hath  read,  and,  reading,  spares  me  words 
That  only  stammer  when  my  own  would  sing. 
The  marvellous  light  that  entered  me  from  you 
I  cannot  fathom,  nay,  nor  merit  it, 
Except  in  yielding,  in  receiving  all, 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  PROPHET.  63 

As  woman  may,  in  whom  the  sense  is  quick 

To  conquer  reason  which  resists  in  man. 

I  was  a  harp-string,  mute  until  you  touched: 

If  to  your  ear  the  sound  be  melody, 

Strike  out  of  me  the  strong,  full-handed  chords 

To  your  exaltment ! 

DAVID. 

(Aside,  as  LIVIA  goes  forward  to  RHODA.) 
When  was  ever  such  ? 
The  clear-eyed  spirit,  so  superbly  housed, 
The  power  that  bends  in  soft  subservience, 
The  gift  that  beams  on  all  except  herself,  — 
Yea,  she  is  chosen  !     Yea,  from  out  her  eyes, 
And  from  her  hands,  and  breathing  forth  from  her, 
Is  promise  ! 

LIVIA. 

( To  RHODA.) 

You,  whose  blessed  place  it  is 
To  touch  and  warm  the  Prophet's  weary  hands, 
And,  after  shining  visions,  to  restore 
The  virtue  of  his  dazzled  eyes,  be  kind, 
I  pray,  and  friendly  !     I  would  have  your  love, 
His  confidence.     My  life  was  not  as  yours, 
Ah,  me  !  as  simply  innocent  and  pure; 
And  yet,  methinks,  for  them  that  meet  in  truth, 
There  's  but  a  single  gateway  to  the  heart. 

RHODA  (slowly}. 

I  think  I  never  hated  such  as  seemed 
Unfriendly  :   if  I  fail  to  love,  when  love 
Invites  me  first,  I  were  not  worthy  it. 


64  THE  PROPHET.  [Acx  II. 

LI  VI  A. 
{Turning  to  DAVID.) 

My  lines  of  life,  as  they  draw  near  to  you, 

Lie  clearly  traced  ;  yet,  as  they  backward  tend, 

Lead  to  confusions  which,  ere  knowing  them, 

Your  pardon  touched.     The  spoiled  child  of  the  world 

Was  I  until  I  saw  you  ;  born  in  wealth, 

And  cradled  'mid  the  shows  and  vanities 

Religion  covers  with  a  modish  cloak. 

Pride  to  the  right,  to  left  stood  Piety : 

Each  took  a  hand,  and  grimly  led  my  life 

Along  the  pavement  trod  by  feet  of  all. 

When  I  would  wander  free,  as  whoso  feels 

Some  independent  right  of  soul,  gave  Pride 

A  downright  blow  that  stung  •  but  Piety 

Pinched  me  in  secret,  while  her  leaky  eyes 

Wept  rivers,  and  her  whining  voice  bewailed. 

Then  I  submitted,  lived  a  ceaseless  lie, 

Till  death  and  changes  had  delivered  me 

From  all  but  wealth.     But,  ah  !  my  fettered  limbs 

Were  dwarfed  and  shrunken :    I  was  free  to  move, 

When  motion  was  but  pain.     I  saw  the  world 

As  one  beholds  a  casket,  and  the  key 

Thereof  is  lost.     I  stood  outside  of  life, 

Helpless  to  reach  existence  I  desired, 

Disgusted  with  existence  which  I  knew, 

Until  you  said,  or  through  your  soul  I  heard, 

"  Daughter,  arise  ! "  and  I  arose  and  came. 

DAVID. 

Not  I,  but  what  in  me  was  manifest. 

LIV1A. 

It  is  the  same.     By  you  alone  I  heard, 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  PROPHET.  65 

Through  you  am  satisfied.     I  hardly  knew 
What  gift  to  claim,  till  something  in  your  face 
Gave  me  the  words.     But  now,  farewell !     I  go 
To  cheer,  perchance  to  help,  the  others. 

{Exit. 

DAVID. 

Go! 

Delivered,  thou,  and  crowned  !     A  woman's  hand  — 
I  had  forgotten  —  yet  it  saved  of  old, 
And  here  may  build,  as  well. 

RHODA. 

Your  lamp  is  lit 
You  know  whereat ;  and  theirs  are  lit  from  yours. 

DAVID. 

Fire  hath  one  being  :  'tis  the  life  that  makes 
Obscure  or  luminous  ;  and  hers,  supprlised 
By  darkening  hands,  breaks  out  in  splendid  blaze. 
She  waited  for  me  :  I  have  bid  her  shine  ! 


ACT   III. 

SCENE  I. 

A  room  in  the  PROPHET'S  house.  DAVID,  NIMROD,  and 
LIVIA  seated  at  a  table  upon  which  lie  papers  and  plans. 
RHODA  at  the  window  looking  upon  the  garden,  with  some 
needlework  in  her  hand. 

NIMROD. 

IT  means  not  failure.     Still  our  armor  shines, 
Our  weapons  cleave  ;    but  they  whose  power  we 

shake, 

The  lazy  priesthood  of  neglected  law, 
Have  clothed  themselves  with  cunning,  to  evade 
Direct  assault :  so  on  their  flanks  exposed 
Must  we  surprise  them. 

DAVID. 

Yet  I  would  not  haste. 
Even  after  goodly  battle,  here  we  sit 
Not  quite  secure  ;  for  jealousy  of  some, 
Unreasoning  hopes  that  in  denial  end, 
And  selfish  fretting  o'er  each  needful  curb, 
Still  task  our  wisdom  :  hardly  can  we  spare 
The  fine,  selected  strength  your  purpose  claims. 

NIMROD. 

There  is  no  virtue  but  fatigues  itself. 
A  sudden  truth  uplifts  with  violence 
The  prostrate  human  soul ;  but  once  exhaust 


SCENE  I.]  THE  PROPHET.  67 

The  first  impulsion,  see  how  weak  it  stands  ! 

So  there  's  a  crisis  this  side  of  success 

In  highest  things  :  our  lot,  this  hour,  is  weighed 

With  that  of  all  neglected,  powerless  tribes, 

That  have  no  life  but  in  the  founder's  name. 

If  here  we  pause,  we  may  become  as  they ; 

But  if,  accepting  every  sign  of  power 

As  loan,  or  test,  until  another  come, 

We  lime  new  branches,  and  extend  our  nets 

To  snare  men's  fluttering  souls,  we  shall  possess, 

In  time,  the  world. 

LIVIA. 

Surely  no  less  will  you, 
Our  prophet ;  and  no  atom  less  will  we. 
That  few  are  gathered  now,  and  halting  minds 
Grow  restless,  casts  no  shadow  on  the  truth  ; 
For  souls  are  verily  but  as  frightened  birds 
That  beat  themselves  against  the  pane,  and  shun 
The  hand  that  catches  them  to  set  them  free. 

NIMROD. 

Well  spoken  !     Nothing  more  have  I  proposed. 

DAVID. 

I  hoped  direct,  immediate  influence  — 

The  power  that  kindles,  burns,  and  purifies  — 

Might  be  all-potent :  yet,  if  men  avoid 

The  touch  of  healing,  must  be  first  constrained, 

Till  health  and  gratitude  together  work 

To  bring  them  here,  I  cannot  but  receive. 

NIMROD. 

Then,  if  they  come,  why  question  how  they  come  ? 
The  life  delivered  never  faulty  finds 


68  THE  PROPHET.  [Acx  III. 

The  manner  of  deliverance.     I,  once, 

When  caught  by  drowning  arms  that  would  have  drowned 

Me  also,  dealt  a  powerful  blow  that  stunned 

And  saved  the  man. 

LIVIA. 

Deal  out  your  blows  to  men, 
And  welcome  !     Women  claim  a  gentler  touch. 
How  many  are  there,  discontented  hearts 
That  pine  and  wither,  seeking  sympathy 
Their  sex  denies,  and  yours  in  half-contempt 
Neglects  to  give  !     For  virile  souls  are  coarse 
And  awkward,  being  selfish  :  the  plain  way 
To  woman's  fast  dependence  (which  she  thinks 
Dependence  on  her)  you  would  seek  in  vain, 
Unless  an  Ariadne  gave  the  clew. 

NIMROD. 

Who,  then,  was  she  ?     A  Gentile  woman,  sure, 
Whom  Paul  converted. 

LIVIA. 

'T  is  enough  that  she 
Was  woman,  and  enough  that  also  I 
Am  woman.     Once  I  dwelt  in  Rome,  it  chanced  ; 
And  thither  came  a  spinster  whom  I  knew, 
Free  of  the  world,  indifferent  to  love, 
Secure  and  calm  in  high  intelligence, 
Armed  at  all  points  ;  yet  soon  the  Church  espied 
Beneath  cold  breasts  the  vulnerable  sense. 
The  haughty  priests,  whose  passionless,  thin  lips 
So  rarely,  but  with  dangerous  sweetness,  smile, 
The  dreamy  youths,  the  rosy  acolytes, 
Sang  to  her,  gave  their  faith  the  form  of  love, 
Till  with  new  passion,  as  in  budding  years, 


SCENE  I.]  THE  PROPHET.  69 

Her  woman's  heart,  sore  with  long  abstinence, 
Sent  up  narcotic  heats  that  drugged  the  brain, 
And  she  was  theirs.     As  easily  were  she  ours  ! 
There  is  no  woman  lives  but  in  her  soul 
Demands  a  bridegroom  ;  failing  one  of  flesh, 
Then  one  of  spirit.     Learn  to  promise  this 
In  secret  visitations,  mystic  signs, 
Make  truth  seem  love,  and  knowledge  ecstasy, 
And  you  will  lead  our  sex. 

RHODA. 

(Rising  hastily.} 

Who,  then,  are_y0#  ? 

What  mother  nursed  you  on  such  milk  as  this  ? 
I  have  but  scanty  words  ;  but  in  my  heart 
The  woman,  from  her  simple  whiteness  torn, 
And  dipped  in  scarlet,  cries,  "  Not  thus  are  we  ! 
Not  thus  the  loneliness  of  maiden  life, 
The  lingering  sorrow  of  frustrated  love, 
And  pure  regret,  and  tender  hope  outlived, 
Seek  compensation  !  "     Less  than  moveth  man 
Gives  woman  peace.     The  aged,  innocent  lives 
Of  childless  widows  and  unwedded  maids 
Softly  enclose  us,  young,  and  keep  from  harm  : 
Denied  their  own,  they  guard  another's  brood, 
So  gathering  bliss.     But  of  what  kind  are  those 
Who  find  no  truth,  save  men,  forbid  to  wed, 
Or  wived  already,  offer  it  as  love  ? 

LIVIA. 

Your  innocence  takes  false  alarm  :  the  old, 
The  gentle,  fixed  in  narrow  circumstance, 
Good  by  tradition  and  temptation's  lack, 
Resist  us  most.     Who  was  it  came  to  call 
Not  righteous  men,  but  sinners  ?     Virtue  lifts 


70  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  III 

A  front  the  braver  after  knowledge  comes, 
But  is  not  knowledge  first.     I  spake  of  that 
Whereof  your  ignorance  is  no  reproach  : 
The  blessedness  of  life  descends  on  you, 
But  not  on  them  you  blame. 

DAVID. 

Reject  not  such  ! 

'T  was  so  commanded  :  them  the  Devil  traps 
It  may  be  lawful  that  we  snare  in  turn. 
We  fight  the  Fiend,  my  wife  :  our  triumph  here 
Hath  pricked  him  out  of  ancient  confidence. 

NIMROD. 

The  power  is  given  :  the  secret  of  its  use 
Is  left  to  us.     The  first  light  dazzles  men, 
And  some  reach  forth,  and  grasp  the  guiding  hand  ; 
Then  others  say,  with  pupils  narrowed  in, 
"  There  is  no  need  :  we  see  but  as  we  saw." 
Here,  husbanding  the  busy  strength  of  all, 
And  wasting  naught,  the  comforts  we  can  spare 
Invite  a  double  number  :  let  them  come  ! 
And  if,  through  weakness  captured,  they  receive 
The  gift  of  power  ;  through  greed,  unselfishness  ; 
Through  vain  delusions,  knowledge  of  the  truth,  — 
What  fool  will  cast  away  the  tested  gold 
He  gets,  for  promised  copper  ? 

LIVIA. 

Strange  that  men 

Who  most  do  suffer  must  be  driven  to  good  ! 
They  are  as  children  bribed  to  take  the  draught 
That  saves,  even  though  the  prophet's  honeyed  wine. 
Lo  !  now  the  temple's  gilded  pinnacles 
The  impatient  sun  hath  kissed  :  across  the  land 


SCENE  II.]  THE  PROPHET.  Ji 

They  sharply  shine  like  arrows  drawn  to  head, 
And  heavenward  aimed  !     The  signs  portend  increase  : 
Shall  we  alone  be  lean,  while  others  burst 
With  useless  fatness  ? 

DAVID. 

Call  our  messengers 

To  learn  a  new  commandment !     We  must  stay 
Their  sinking  hands,  fill  up  their  flickering  lamps, 
And  sting  their  souls  with  courage  which  o'ercomes, 
Since  it  foresees.     One  weapon  given  to  all 
Were  scarcely  wisdom  :  lend  the  shorter  arm 
A  longer  blade,  the  less-enduring  force 
Advantage  of  the  ground  !     While  they  exist, 
The  Gentile  churches,  must  we  spread  or  cease., 
I  meant  not  idleness  ;  but,  if  so  seems 
This  pause  of  preparation,  let  us  work 
Amid  the  noises  of  the  ringing  steel, 
Heat  with  quick  hammer-blows  where  fire  may  fail^ 
And  only  rest  when  faint  with  victory  ! 


SCENE  II. 

The  council-room.  DAVID  seated  in  an  arm-chair  at  the  head 
of  a  long  table  ;  NIMROD  at  the  foot ;  on  each  side,  six  mem 
bers  of  the  COUNCIL  OF  TWELVE. 

DAVID. 

Not  every  leaf  an  equal  bounty  finds 

Of  sap  or  sun  ;  yet  rooted  is  our  State 

To  grow,  and  not  to  wither.     We  must  sweep 

The  troubled  waters  of  the  world,  henceforth, 

In  wider  circles,  luring  to  our  ark 

Them,  chiefly,  for  the  covenant  who  yearn, 


72  THE  PROPHET.  [Acx  III. 

And  would  behold,  distinct  as  graven  words, 
The  signs  thereof  in  us.     If  any  here, 
In  view  of  such  advantage,  hath  inquired, 
And  finds  a  partial  answer  in  his  soul, 
Let  him  be  heard  ! 

NIMROD. 

Some  brethren,  with  myself 
(For  scattered  duties  scarce  allow,  as  yet, 
Full  conference),  have  found  accordant  minds. 
We,  least  of  all  fore-grasping  power  reserved, 
But  for  projecting  lines  of  present  power 
To  their  conclusions  in  the  future,  reach 
This  argument :  We  dare  not  mutilate 
Our  restoration  of  neglected  faith 
By  preaching  only :  it  must  live  in  us 
Until  the  ancient  days  and  ways  He  loved 
Shall  draw  Him  near,  —  not  simply  where  the  soul 
Trims  her  small  chamber,  or  prophetic  lips 
Burn  from  His  fiery  touch  ;  but  call  Him  down, 
To  make  His  very  self  endurable 
To  human  sense.     A  trance,  mistook  for  death, 
Thaws  from  the  blood  with  struggle  and  with  pang ; 
And  still  we  feebly  move  the  torpid  limbs, 
See  through  a  veil,  and  hear  but  muffled  sounds : 
So  you,  whose  hand  upon  us  broke  the  spell, 
Give,  pulse  by  pulse,  the  life  revealed  to  you, 
As  we  take  strength  to  bear  it ! 

JONAS. 

Not  to  me 

Was  this  imparted,  nor  to  some  I  know. 
There  may  be  times  demanding  cloudy  speech ; 
But  clearer  now  were  welcomer.     What  pulse 
Shall  first  be  felt  ?     The  prophet  called  on  us, 
I  thought ;  and  you  direct  us  back  to  him. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  PROPHET.  73 

SIMEON. 

Without  conferring,  unprepared  as  you, 
Yet  do  I  comprehend.     The  cloud  may  be 
Inside  of  eyes  that  blame  the  sky  for  it. 

NIMROD. 

Nay,  Simeon  !     He  who  speaks  in  images 

Oft  sees  the  image  taken  for  the  thing. 

Hear,  all  !     We  mean  to  purchase  power  disused, 

But  never  abrogated  :  on  what  rock, 

If  not  on  this,  have  we  been  building  here  ? 

And  he  who  welds  again  the  broken  link 

Between  the  Lord  and  man,  who  summon  us 

To  twofold  lives  that  speak  our  waxing  faith,  — 

Ah  !  once  let  morning  rise,  men  soon  forget 

Their  hours  of  darkness,  — he  awaits  that  we 

Obey  his  messages  in  soul  and  flesh. 

HUGH. 

Then  what  is  past  is  sealed,  our  work  approved 
And  fresh  apportioned  ? 

DAVID. 

Is  not  all  one  piece,  — 
Past,  present,  future,  —  as  a  youth  in  whom 
The  child  expands,  the  man  is  possible  ? 
This  restless  ferment  in  the  general  mind 
Must  not  infect  my  own  :  the  charge  ye  bear 
I  gave,  indeed  ;  but,  save  by  constant  guard 
And  forceful  lifting  of  the  soul,  I  keep 
The  separate  gift,  then  were  ye  lost  with  me. 
What  I  anticipate  I  dare  not  speak, 
Until  commanded.     Voices  heard  from  far, 
And  shadows  thrown,  are  stammering  messengers  ; 
But  when  His  will,  in  language  and  in  form, 


74  THE  PROPHET.  [Acx  III. 

Arrives,  the  time  of  conference  is  past. 
Speak,  now,  and  freely  :  therefore  I  withdraw. 

{Exit. 
HUGH. 

His  words  hold  promise  :  he  was  highly  moved. 

Yet,  if  the  revelation  must  forbid 

All  further  question,  why  confer  we  now  ? 

MORDECAI. 

In  holy  discipline.     We,  too,  have  felt 
The  breathing  of  the  Spirit,  and  our  souls 
Point,  like  the  smallest  flame,  the  way  it  draws  : 
So,  after  him  if  now  our  light  be  cast, 
We  lead  the  others. 

NIMROD. 

Yea  :  what  I  declared 
Was  but  direction,  not  a  single  path. 
Who  our  accomplished  work  in  truth  accepts 
Will  halt  not  here  ;  but,  bending  yearning  eyes 
Upon  their  lives,  who  owned  the  heritage 
From  Dan  and  Hermon  unto  Hebron's  oaks, 
Will  scan  each  custom,  pleasant  to  the  Lord, 
And  choose  what  fails  us  most.     Let,  therefore,  each 
Go  back  in  spirit,  serve  in  Jacob's  stead  ; 
Behold  the  sons  of  Aaron  with  strange  fire 
Consumed,  and  stoned  the  son  of  Shelomith  ; 
Tarry  with  Judah  where  the  way  goes  up 
To  Timnath  ;  find  his  feet,  like  Boaz,  warm 
From  her  who  stole  beneath  the  garment's  skirt ; 
Or,  set  in  fruitful  households,  chant  the  psalms 
Of  shepherd-kings,  and  Solomon's  high  song. 
All  He  allowed  —  nay,  so  encouraged,  then, 
He  turned  aside,  and  in  the  heat  of  day 
Did  visit  His  elected  —  must  be  ours, 


SCENE  II.]  THE  PROPHET.  75 

Ere  we,  with  hands  and  meats  no  more  unclean, 
Dare  dress  the  board  for  Him.     What  first  to  choose 
Of  new  adornment  for  the  mighty  Guest 
Is  now  our  task. 

JONAS. 

You  had  not  said  so  much, 
Save  you  had  chosen.     Let  us  know  your  choice. 

MORDECAI. 

While  we  aspire,  it  seems  you  'd  fain  provoke 
Dissension  :  rather  to  the  records  turn, 
Dead  histories  so  long,  but  now  brought  near 
For  pure  example. 

SIMEON. 

Why,  what  words  are  his  ? 
From  our  beginning  we  have  trod  one  track  — 

NIMROD  (interrupting}. 

Which  leads  straight  forward,  over  cowardice, 
And  half-belief,  and  forms  of  later  law 
God  never  gave.     What  says  the  foolish  world  ? 
That  place  and  time  and  circumstance  have  changed : 
Still  those  were  holy  men.     But  what  they  did 
Makes  us  unholy.     Oh  !   He  loved  them  well, 
Stepped  down  from  heaven  upon  their  herded  hills, 
Talked  face  to  face  —  so  much  priests  bid  us  take, 
Then  —  there  they  halt ;  and  all  emasculate  law 
They  teach,  casts  dirt  on  Israel  of  old. 
Of  kings,  or  prophets,  or  apostles,  none 
Forbids  our  following  :  every  sign  bestowed 
On  our  new  eyes  says,  Conquer  all  by  all ! 

SIMEON. 

(Aside  to  HUGH.) 
He  waxes  mighty. 


7  6  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  III 

NIMROD. 

'T  is  enough  to-day  ! 

The  Prophet's  words  give  guidance  to  our  thoughts. 
Let  each  into  the  closet  of  his  soul 
Retire  a  space,  and  there,  alone,  select 
Not  what  the  weakening  leaven  of  the  past, 
And  unabolished  habit  of  the  heart, 
Stir  up  within  us  ;  but  the  thing  he  finds 
Chiefest  in  ancient  lives,  and  lacking  here. 
It  may  be  we  shall  wander  different  ways  ; 
But  all  lead  forward,  and  will  surely  join. 


SCENE  III. 

A  garden  in  the  rear  of  the  PROPHET'S  house.    PETER  digging 
a  bed. 

PETER. 

(Pausing  in  his  work.} 
I  hardly  ought  to  say  it ;  but  you  can't 
Turn  one  thing  into  t'  other.     Leastways,  some 
Have  only  changed  their  devils,  not  cast  out, 
And,  with  the  pick  and  choice  of  gifts  they  had, 
Are  none  the  wiser.     There  my  old  horse-sense 
Said,  just  as  plain,  "  See  whether  you  can  use  ;  " 
And,  if  I  'd  opened  mouth,  and  shut  my  eyes, 
The  Lord  knows  whether  anything  had  dropped. 
I  can't  make  out :  there  's  going  back  and  forth, 
Like  candidates  before  election-time, 
When,  with  a  little  sleight-of-hand,  a  man 
May  sell  two  votes.     Here,  mine  will  hardly  count. 
Our  David  's  always  safe,  and  brother  Kraft, 
And  sister  Livia,  —  each  a  regiment. 
She  looked  at  me  in  such  an  asking  way, 


SCENE  III.]  THE  PROPHET.  77 

This  morning  !  what  the  —  Zion  —  could  she  want  ? 
Maybe,  the  temple  — more  pontificals  : 
Whichever  way  you  turn,  when  sundown  comes, 
It 's  temple,  temple,  temple  !     I  was  glad 
On  their  account ;  but,  now  it's  finished  up, 
Both  him  and  her  go  sideling  round  the  house, 
As  if  forever  hunting  something  lost. 

(Sings.} 

Oh  !  I  've  a  hundred  acres  of  land, 

•And  a  house  to  cover  your  head ; 
And  in  the  spring,  when  the  dovey-doveys  sing, 

They  say  it 's  the  time  to  wed. 

Oh  !  I  've  an  eye  that  is  blue  and  shy, 

And  a  mouth  that  is  red,  says  she, 
And  a  heart  at  rest  in  my  lily,  lily  breast ; 

And  why  should  I  wed  with  thee  ? 

Oh  !  take  your  choice  when  the  days  are  long, 

And  be  sure  you  never  will  rue. 
When  I  'm  safe  from  storm,  and  it 's  bonny,  bonny  warm, 

Say,  what  will  become  of  you  ? 

Oh  !  I  '11  comb  and  curl  your  bright  brown  hair, 

On  a  Sunday  morning  gay ; 
For  a  maid,  I  guess,  when  she  means  yes,  yes, 

Begins  with  a  nay,  nay,  nay  ! 

NIMROD   (entering}. 

When  birds  sing  that  way,  it  is  time  to  build. 
Good-morrow,  Peter  ! 

PETER. 

And  good-day,  high  priest ! 
(Aside.) 
I  have  a  vote,  it  seems. 


7  3  •    THE  PROPHET.  [Acr  III. 

NIMROD. 

Your  plants  are  trim 

And  forward  :  that  shows  liking  for  the  place. 
The  prophet  told  me,  as  an  orphan  boy 
You  came  to  him. 

PETER. 
Ay,  't  was  my  only  home. 

NIMROD. 

Your  silent  faith  counts  more  than  that  of  some 
Who  make  a  loud  profession.     Modestly 
You  choose  no  gift ;  but  you  may  highly  serve 
The  Church,  by  being  fully  what  you  are. 

PETER. 
Preambles  don't  get  through  my  head. 

NIMROD. 

Find,  then, 
A  mate,  and  add  a  dozen  to  our  flock. 

PETER. 

Oho  !     That 's  good  advice.     But  here  's  my  fix  : 
I  stand  half-way  'twixt  Jane  and  Mary  Ann 
(We  '11  say),  both  willing.     Now,  to  choose  for  good, 
When  either  took,  you  might  find  afterwards 
The  t'other  was  the  better,  —  there  I  stick  ! 
I  'd  let  our  Rhoda  pick  for  me  ;  but  then, 
She  don't  know  both. 

NIMROD. 
(Lowering  his  voice.} 

If  both  were  given  to  you, 
As  in  the  days  of  old  ? 


SCENE  III.]  THE  PROPHET. 

PETER. 
(Dropping  his  spade!)   \ 

That 's  something  new : 
You  mean  it? 


NIMROD. 

What  has  been  may  be  again. 


PETER. 

Well,  each  is  pleasant  while  she  holds  the  chance, 
And  would  outbid  the  t'other :  make  it  law 
For  all  of  us,  the  double  check  would  last, 
And  they  'd  pull  square,  I  guess. 

NIMROD. 

What  thus  relieves 

Your  own  dilemma  offers  general  peace. 
But  guard  your  tongue  :   I  've  no  authority 
To  promise  this,  or  even  so  much  as  hint. 
You  've  read  your  Bible  :  what  the  Lord  himself 
Established  for  the  fathers  of  the  world 
Is  justified  to  us. 

PETER. 

And  yet  it 's  queer 
To  live  like  folks  a  million  years  ago. 

NIMROD. 

Ay,  there  you  hit  it !     But  the  Prophet's  power 
Was  lost  as  long.     The  hearts  of  men,  you  've  seen, 
Are  like  their  stomachs,  used  to  this  or  that, 
Shy  of  the  best  of  food,  if  other  kind, 
And  some  half  starve  before  they  taste  of  it. 
Here  you  can  aid  :  I  need  not  tell  you  more  : 
There  's  ways  of  finding  how  a  man  inclines, 
Without  declaring  much. 


8o  THE  PROPHET.  [Acr  III. 

PETER. 

I  understand. 

NIMROD. 

The  Prophet's  soul  is  wrestling  with  his  task. 
Guard  him  from  useless  trouble,  keep  him  free 
From  small  disturbances  !     'T  is  much  for  you 
To  be  a  faithful  watchman  at  his  gates. 

{Exit 

PETER. 

•  (After  a  prolonged  whistle. ) 
It 's  half  a  pity  such  a  man  as  that 
Is  out  of  Congress  !     When  he  means  a  thing, 
It 's  safe  to  bet  the  thing  will  happen  soon. 
So  that's  the  secret ;  and  they  're  flustered  both, 
Misdoubting,  doubtless,  how  the  folks  will  take  ! 
I  'm  mighty  'cute,  when  I  lay  out  to  be, 
And  here  's  good  reason.     Oh,  I  '11  bait  my  hooks, 
And  jerk  men's  thoughts  out,  fast  as  hungry  pike  ! 
I  '11  go  ahead  where  David  wants  to  walk, 
And  cut  a  swath,  then  —  Jane  and  Mary  Ann  ! 

SCENE   IV. 

The  council-room.    NIMROD  KRAFT  and  the  TWELVE 
assembled. 

NIMROD. 

Nine  out  of  twelve  —  thereto  my  voice  the  tenth  — 
Give  clearest  title  :  there  's  no  room  for  doubt 
(Which,  as  we  stand,  means  nothing  else  than  fear); 
For  each,  in  silent  seeking,  urged  by  none, 
By  none  persuaded,  found  the  truth.     We  meet  — 
Against  all  secret  understanding  guard  — 
Declare  in  writing  :  speaks  the  Lord,  or  not  ? 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  PROPHET. 

Who  else  hath  made  so  many  of  one  mind  ? 
And  if  the  Prophet's  light  indeed  be  ours, 
Shed  on  the  law  he  means  to  give  us  next, 
'T  is  as  a  chosen  field  should  plough  itself, 
So  eager  for  the  seed  ! 

SIMEON. 
Who  are  the  three  ? 

HUGH. 
The  question  tells  where  you  belong,  at  least. 

NIMROD. 

They  know  ;  so  shall  the  Prophet ;  't  is  enough  ! 
The  temple's  dedication,  now  at  hand, 
Demands  relaying  of  a  basis  built 
Of  what  came  nearest.     Thin  and  crumbling  stones 
Must  be  removed,  and  those  of  solid  grain 
Replace  them ;  't  was  intended  from  the  first. 

JONAS. 

I  make  no  secret  of  dissent.     Your  words 
Imply  a  threat  :  so  speak  it  honestly  ! 

NIMROD. 

Dissent  may  live,  while  disobedience  dies. 
I  did  not  threaten  :  it  may  be  myself 
Shall  be  rejected  first.     If  you  require 
The  human  logic  of  the  call  divine, 
To  settle  new  misgivings,  none  will  blame, 
So,  afterwards,  acceptance  follows. 

MORDECAI. 

Lord, 

Enlighten  them  that  wander  in  the  dark  ! 
6 


82  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  III. 

SIMEON. 

So  near  accordance,  let  us  cease  to  strive  ! 
The  law  we  pray  for  gives  new  power  to  man, 
Takes  old  reproach  from  woman,  multiplies 
Inheritors  of  truth,  as  born  therein, 
And  heals  perversions  that  distress  the  world. 
Oh,  may  it  come  ! 

JONAS. 

Yes  ;  come  to  tear  down  homes, 
And  leave  us  tents  instead,  pitched  wide  apart ! 

NIMROD. 

Even  so  they  dwelt ;  for  Zion  was  their  home  ; 
And  thereunto  they  gave  what  you  deny, 
The  riches  of  their  loins.     Make  end  of  talk  ; 
The  Prophet  waits.     Go,  Simeon,  bid  him  here  ! 
(Exit  SIMEON.     Immediately  aftenvards  DAVID  enters,  and 
takes  his  seat  at  the  head  of  the  table.} 

DAVID. 

If  I  foresaw  the  form  of  your  desire, 

I  left  you,  none  the  less,  uninfluenced  prayer, 

And  ample  freedom.     Whither  tend  your  minds  ? 

NIMROD. 

One  here  impeaches  my  sincerity : 
Let  Mordecai  declare  ! 

MORDECAI. 

We  ten  are  one. 

Three  choose  another  sign,  or  ours  distrust. 
We  would  restore  that  patriarchal  home 
The  Lord  preferred,  —  its  fair,  obedient  wives, 
Its  heritage  of  children  ;  as  He  gave, 
So  giving  now,  that  none  be  left  alone 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  PROPHET.  83 

Or  fruitless  :  thus  the  chasms  of  Gentile  life 
Wherein  they  fall,  or  pine  on  either  side, 
Shall  all  be  closed  in  us. 

DAVID. 

This  makes  a  chasm 
Impassable  between  us  and  the  world. 
Have  you  considered  ? 

SIMEON. 

They  that  follow  you 
Already  crossed,  and  hurled  the  bridges  down. 

NIMROD. 

Such  test  were  all  too  easy.     In  our  hearts, 
By  long  transmission  of  the  narrower  love 
Make  shrunken,  is  the  field  of  sacrifice. 
Who  offers  there,  in  cheerful  company 
With  her  who  for  her  sisters'  sake  submits, 
And  for  the  Lord's  high  pleasure,  hath  prevailed, 
Forgets  that  he  has  ever  lived  ere  now 
(Thus  you  commanded),  and  is  surely  blessed, 
Save  bankrupt  be  the  treasury  of  Heaven. 

DAVID. 

Oh  !  send  us,  Lord,  Thy  keenest  tongues  of  fire 
To  burn  out  reason,  greed,  and  appetite, 
And  leave,  clear  gold,  the  knowledge  of  Thy  will ! 
There  's  truth  in  your  concurrence  ;  there  is  faith 
That  loves  a  trial ;  yea,  so  much  as  this 
Lies,  as  a  tree,  within  our  planted  seed. 
But  —  in  His  own  good  time  !     What  I  declare  — 
Believe  me,  brethren  !  —  comes  through  sore  travail 
Of  mind  and  spirit :  I  am  set  as  one 
Beneath  deep  waves,  who,  looking  for  the  day, 


84  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  III. 

Sees  watery  lights,  and  ever-shifting  gleams, 
Till,  in  a  calm  betwixt  the  billowy  tides, 
The  sun  a  moment  pierces.     Press  not  close  : 
The  purest  counsel  may  confuse  us  here. 
Look  ye,  how  many  hearts  are  frozen  yet, 
Which,  until  thawed,  must  be  withheld  from  fire  ! 
But  if  —      Nay,  this  is  all.     I  charge  you,  wait ! 
On  mine  own  soul  I  take  the  stress  of  yours, 
To  climb  therewith  :  a  finger  stretched  to  help 
May  shake  the  balance  :  stand  aside,  and  wait ! 


SCENE  V. 
A  room  in  the  PROPHET'S  house. 

DAVID. 

(  Walking  up  and  down.} 
I  felt  it  come  :  within  me  and  without 
The  signs  agreed.     One  influence  said,  "  Postpone  !  " 
But  something  else  —  what  was,  what  is  it  ?  —  cries, 
"  No  cowardice  !  the  leaven  of  the  world 
Works  in  thy  nature."     Yet  the  inner  sense,  — 
So  pure  it  seems,  even  set  against  His  light, 
So  simply  strong,  where  old,  insidious  lust 
May  otherwise  find  entrance,  —  yea,  it  makes 
Me  coward  !     Here  might  woman  offer  help, 
Had  she  but  reached  that  statelier  modesty 
Which  takes  all  mysteries  of  love  and  life 
As  God's  enactments. 

RHODA  (entering)- 

You  have  walked  so  long  ! 

Your  face  is  vexed  with  thought.     What  is  it  fills 
The  very  air  ?     I  have  forborne  to  ask, 


SCENE  V.]  THE  PROPHET.  85 

Knowing  the  burden  of  the  fate  of  all 
Weighing  upon  you  ;  yet,  if  those  are  right 
Who  counsel  most,  so  soon  to  be  relieved. 

DAVID. 

It  is  not  that,  or  only  in  such  wise 
As  manifest  direction  of  the  past 
And  present  blessing  may  increase  the  load. 
For  triumph  makes  afraid  :  it  stings  and  stirs 
All  sleeping  evil  to  a  new  assault ; 
Yet  flatters  so  the  self-exalted  soul, 
That  what  descended  seems  to  dwell  within. 
They  hope  a  further  message,  and  with  right  : 
The  time  is  ripe  ;  but  whether  purified 
As  who  accepts  a  truth  re-making  life, 
Or  half  with  us,  and  half,  unconsciously, 
Swayed  by  an  ancient  conscience  — 
(He  pauses.} 

RHODA. 

Dare  the  truth, 

As  first  you  dared.     I  know  no  other  law 
Than  I  have  learned  of  you. 

DAVID. 

There  spoke  my  wife  ! 
Yea,  if  all  women  \vere  so  sweetly  strung 
To  trust  and  follow  us,  the  task  were  light. 

RHODA. 
The  women  ?     How  ?  you  doubt  their  equal  faith  ? 

DAVID. 

(Slowly,  walking  up  and  down,  and  closely  watching  RHODA.) 
Not  equal  faith,  but  equal  —  shall  I  say  — 


86  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  III. 

Self-abnegation  ?     Nay,  the  word  escapes. 
'T  is  one  to  either  sex,  yet  opposite  ; 
For  man  accepts,  without  a  harm  to  love, 
What  unto  woman  seems  its  fatal  hurt. 
Such  were  not  those  of  old,  the  strong  and  proud, 
The  stately  mothers,  favorites  of  the  Lord. 
What  wife  was  Rachel,  when  she  Bilhah  gave  ? 
Who  now  would  yield,  to  multiply  our  tribe, 
And  take  reproach  from  others,  nuptial  right  ? 

RHODA. 

I  fear  to  understand.     Who  asks  the  "  right "  ? 
What  men  demand  the  license  ?     Surely  you 

Denied  them  ? 

DAVID. 

Wherefore  use  unseemly  words  ? 
Faith  is  not  license,  save  in  nobler  sense  ; 
And  prayerful  questioning  is  no  demand. 
Say  revelation,  clear  as  any  given, 
Should  this  confirm  :  what  then  ? 

RHODA. 

'T  will  not  be  given, 

To  strike  the  life  from  all  true  women's  hearts  ! 
Nay,  hear  me,  David  !     Do  not  turn  your  face. 
You  are  so  good  !     They  have  misled  your  mind, 
Those  two,  themselves  misled,  who  cannot  reach 
Your  purer  height ;  but  this  is  not  of  you. 
Were  we  alone,  and  some  strange  sacrifice  — 
'T  is  foolish,  speaking  thus  !     Put  me  aside, 
But  think  of  innocent  wives,  whose  joy  of  life, 
So  satisfied  with  trust  in  one  man's  truth, 
Sustains  them  in  long  weariness  and  fear, 
That  end  in  pangs,  and  endless,  narrowing  cares  : 
No,  no  :  you  will  not  rob  them  ! 


SCENE  V.]  THE  PROPHET.  87 

DAVID. 

Have  I  robbed 

All  these  of  home,  to  leave  them  shelterless  ? 
Of  ignorant  faith,  to  send  no  power  instead  ? 
If  care  be  less  for  each,  yet  love  remain 
Enough  for  all,  I  give,  not  take  away. 
To  set  her  delicate  heart  in  common  breasts, 
And  so  interpret,  is  a  woman's  way  : 
Were  all  as  you  are  —     Nay,  there  's  little  good 
Conjecturing  thus  :   I  have  a  single  path. 
Shall  He  desert  me,  after  glorious  signs 
Given  from  the  first  ?     Why,  that  undoes  my  work  ! 
Who  was  it  sent  me  to  the  wilderness, 
Unsealed  mine  ears  until  the  distant  voice 
Drew  nearer,  and  a  vision  of  the  night 
So  seized  and  shook  my  helpless  human  soul, 
That  breath  forsook  me  ?     Yea,  almost  I  brake 
The  spider's  thread  dividing  earth  and  heaven ; 
But  such  was  not  His  will.     When  morning  came, 
And,  lapped  in  faint  indifference  to  life 
I  lay,  the  barren  rock  before  mine  eyes 
Was  as  a  table,  spread  by  angel-hands  ! 
He  gave  me  food  :  I  ate,  and  I  was  saved. 
As  well  refuse  the  food  he  offers  now, 
And  let  faith,  starving,  die  ! 

RHODA    (eagerly]. 

Who  saved  you  then 

May  save  again  !     'T  is  nought  to  offer  food  ; 
But  I  obeyed  a  voice,  this  moment  clear, 
And  charged,  I  feel,  with  all  the  Lord's  high  will 
In  woman  manifest.     I  pray  you,  take, 
Even  from  my  hands,  which  then  were  hid  from  you, 
Now,  openly,  my  evidence  from  Him  ! 


THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  III. 

DAVID. 

What  double  sense  is  in  your  words  ?     I  hear, 
Not  comprehending. 

RHODA. 

How  could  I  refrain  ? 

Two  days  had  passed  :   I  dared  not  interrupt 
Your  solitude  of  soul,  and  prayers  that  fed 
Upon  the  life  of  your  forgotten  frame  ; 
But,  guided  near  you,  oh,  thank  Him  for  that ! 
I  left  the  food  — 

DAVID. 

You  ?  you  ! 

RHODA. 

As  was  His  will. 
What  ails  you,  David  ? 

(Aside.} 

He  is  deadly  pale  ; 

There  's  something  fierce  and  strange  within  his  eyes : 
He  frightens  me. 

DAVID. 
You  brought  me  food  ? 

RHODA. 

I  did. 
DAVID. 

What  else  ?    What  more  have  you  in  secret  done  ? 
Who  taught  you  so  to  counterfeit  the  Lord  ? 
Woman  !  to  burrow  underneath  my  feet,0 
And  make  a  hollowness  where  rock  should  be  ! 
How  dared  you  cheat  me  ? 


SCENE  V.]  THE  PROPHET.  89 

RHODA. 

Slay  me  with  your  hand, 

Not  with  such  face  and  words  !     If  I  but  saved 
(You  say  it  saved  you),  how  could  love  refrain  ? 
I  have  obeyed,  believed  all  else  in  you, 
As  I  believe  and  worship  still :  forgive  ! 

(She  falls  on  her  knees  before  him.} 
DAVID. 

Not  unto  me,  your  husband,  David,  man  ; 
But,  if  I  be  a  Prophet  of  the  Lord,  — 
Yes,  if!     It  seems  to  you  a  little  thing  :    * 
Rise  up  !     I  cannot  answer  now  :  the  house 
Rocks  to  and  fro,  the  temple's  pinnacles 
Dance  in  the  air  like  devils'  shuttlecocks  : 
There  's  nothing  stable.     Rise,  I  say  again  ! 

(She  rises  to  her  feet.} 

Now  take  your  seat,  and  sew  !     I  've  heard  it  said 
Women  think  better  when  the  hand  ?s  employed  : 
If  'tis  so,  think! 

(He  moves  towards  the  door} 

RHODA. 
David  ! 

DAVID. 

I  go  to  pray. 

\Exit. 

RHODA. 

Come  back  !     He 's  gone.     O  God  !  what  have  I  done  ? 


90  THE  PROPHET.  [Acx  III. 

SCENE  VI. 

Midnight.  The  interior  of  the  temple :  a  row  of  columns, 
on  either  side  of  the  nave,  throivs  the  side  aisles  into  shadow. 
A  huge  baptismal  font  of  stone,  resting  on  four  rudely- 
sculptured  fig^lres,  —  a  lion,  an  ox,  a  griffin,  and  a  ram,  — 
rises  from  the  floor :  behind,  on  a  platform  of  stone,  an  altar 
bearing  the  ark,  on  each  side  of  which  lights  are  burning  in 
seven-branched  candlesticks.  A  veil,  partly  lifted  on  one 
side,  conceals  a  semicircular  chancel,  which  is  the  Holy  of 
Holies.} 

DAVID. 

*  (Slowly  pacing  along  the  nave.} 
And  this  complete,  a  house  to  give  Him  joy  ! 
So  near,  so  great,  the  triumph,  and  the  dread 
Forerunning  it !     But,  while  I  feared  a  bolt 
From  heaven,  the  earth,  without  a  warning,  heaved. 
She  cannot  see  the  harm,  nor  I  translate : 
O  doubt  of  soul,  so  often  trampled  down  ! 
O  highest  faith,  as  oft  renewed  in  pain  ! 
Why  comes  your  fiercest  battle  now  ?     She  fed  ; 
An  accident  upset  the  toppling  rock  ; 
The  vision  was  a  dream  :  the  flock  I  lead 
Is  fooled  by  me,  as  I  have  fooled  myself  ! 
Howe'er  I  turn,  I  stand  as  girt  by  fire  ; 
And  all  in  me  which  seemed  divinely  good 
Is  changed  to  poison,  made  a  scorpion-sting, 
To  pierce  my  soul  with  death.     Oh,  hearken,  Lord  ! 
(He  buries  his  face  in  his  hands.     A  shadow  glides  swiftly 
from  pillar  to  pillar,  and  pattses  opposite  to  him.} 

LIVIA. 

(Aside,  in  a  whisper.} 

He 's  nigh  despair :  I  know  —  there  's  but  one  source  — 
Whence  comes  it.     Fail  me  not,  my  woman's  heart, 
Or  he  and  I  are  lost. 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  PROPHET.  91 

DAVID. 

(Lifting  his  head.} 

He  will  not  speak  ! 
Doth  He  not  know  how  terrible  it  is 
To  ask,  and  not  be  answered  ?     Why,  one  soul, 
For  sin  so  tortured,  would  make  justice  weep ; 
But  this  is  good,  this  seek  a  million  souls. 
What,  then,  is  He  ?     Hold,  hold  !     There  lies  a  gulf 
Whose  awful  darkness  frightens  worse  than  flame. 
The  thought 's  a  serpent,  coiled  round  heart  and  throat, 
And  crushing  life,  save  one  dull  spark  that  burns 
In  suffering  only. 

(He  staggers  to  one  side  and  leans  against  a  column.} 

LIVIA  (aside}. 
This  is  deepest  woe 

Of  doubt,  that  vibrates  back  to  faith  again, 
Can  I  but  loose  the  string.     He  must  not  see, 
Nor  hear,  as  yet ;  but,  stay  !  one  chance  remains. 
(She  steals  forward,  and -vanishes  in  the  darkness.} 

DAVID. 

Thus  all  accomplished  crumbles,  slides  away  ! 
Power  lost,  authority 's  a  puff  of  smoke  ; 
Respect  becomes  its  angry  opposite  ; 
For  each  an  insult  in  my  failure  feels, 
Spying  a  cold  intention  where  I  gave 
In  self-forgetting  faith. 

This  dare  not  be  : 

Am  I  set  back,  to  seek  His  face  again  ? 
Through  heat  and  haste  of  youth,  too  ardent  hope 
Of  large  acceptance,  was  confusion  born, 
And  still  I  stray  ?     Even  for  the  sake  of  men, 


9 2  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  III. 

Should  I  appear  as  I  believed  I  was  ? 

One  line  of  light,  —  one  little  entering  thread, 

As  through 'a  worm-hole  in  a  shutter  probes 

A  darkened  chamber,  —  that  would  save  my  power. 

(  The  bass-pipes  of  the  organ  begin  to  sound,  scarcely  audible  at 
first,  but  gradually  increasing  in  volume  ;  then,  after  a  few 
simple,  alternating  chords,  a  faint,  flute-like  stop  is  added.) 

Is  this  an  answer,  out  of  weary  sense 

Awakened,  to  delude  me  as  before  ? 

Not  so  !     I  cannot  dream  such  harmonies  : 

That  shuddering  of  the  air,  that  far-off  sweep 

Of  myriad  voices,  hiding  what  they  sing,  — 

I  feel,  I  hear  again  !     Come  near,  and  speak ! 

Fold  up  your  fluttering  wings,  that  shake  the  sound, 

Or  soothe  my  passion,  loosened  through  the  eyes, 

Till  I  distinguish  !     Oh  !  some  pity  breathes 

In  your  celestial  sweetness,  melting  me 

To  such  self-sorrow,  I  can  bear  no  more. 

(He  covers  his  face  and  weeps :  the  music  gradually  ceases.} 
My  soul  is  quieted,  and  yet  so  sad  ! 
It  seems  to  wait,  not  all  disclothed  of  hope, 
But  passive,  like  the  silence  of  a  child 
Shut  up  alone,  whom  love  may  soon  release. 
But  I,  —  will  love  release  me  ? 

LIVIA. 

(Stepping  noiselessly  forward :  in  a  low  voice.} 
Prophet,  yea  ! 

DAVID  (starting}. 
Ah  !     What  is  this  ?     How  came  you  here  ? 

LIVIA. 

1     He  called. 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  PROPHET.  93 

DAVID. 

He  called  ?     What  said  He  ? 

LIVIA. 

First,  "  Prepare  a  chant, 
Meet  for  the  dedication  of  My  house." 
I  rose,  came  hither  ;  and  the  organ-stops 
Compelled  my  fingers  to  the  strain  you  heard. 
As  in  a  dream,  the  solemn,  breathing  chords 
Filled  all  of  space  beneath  the  hollow  sky, 
Above  a  valley  ;  trees  and  rocky  crests 
I  seemed  to  see  ;  and  one  awaiting  soul 
Was  there,  and  listening. 

DAVID. 

Livia  !     This  you  saw  ? 

LIVIA. 

Dimly,  and  far  away ;  but  you  were  near. 
Within  the  temple  something  wild  and  strange, 
A  sense  of  agony,  a  dread  appeal, 
So  pierced  my  soul,  I  wept.     I  felt  whence  came 
The  subtile  influence,  —  felt,  and  yielded  all 
Receptive  tablets  of  magnetic  sense 
Which  woman  keeps,  the  substitute  for  power ; 
Till  what,  unconsciously,  you  wrote  thereon 
Brought  me  to  you. 

DAVID. 

I  wrote  ?  and  you  know  all  ? 
'T  were  miracle  !  and  yet,  within  your  eyes 
I  read  the  knowledge. 

LIVIA. 

Also  that  my  faith 
Finds  surer  triumph  planted  in  your  doubt  ? 


94  THE  PROPHET,  [ACT  III. 

This  is  the  prophet-nature  :  such  were  they 
Whose  lips  became  live  coals  of  kindled  truth, 
Dipped  in  the  hell  of  an  uncertain  mind, 
To  fit  them  for  the  bliss  of  certainty. 
What  you  esteem  more  keenly,  dreading  loss, 
You  will  attain  :  your  very  fears  are  hopes  ; 
For,  if  the  signs  of  power  be  accidents, 
Then  accident  is  greater  miracle  ! 

DAVID. 

Ha! 

LIVIA. 

Thus,  each  side,  your  feet  are  firmly  set. 

DAVID. 
And  what  I  ponder,  —  is  it  known  to  you  ? 

LIVIA. 

Ay,  known  and  pondered,  as  a  woman  weighs 
Her  share  in  law,  her  half  of  destiny  ; 
Not  coldly,  but  with  warm,  impressive  mind, 
That  shapes  its  living  features.     Would  you  see 
Their  form  in  mine  ? 

DAVID. 

I  feel  it,  ere  you  speak  ; 
And  yet  I  would  behold. 

LIVIA. 

Within  my  heart 

Truth  purer  is  than  educated  shame. 
Unteach  this  last  in  woman,  she  will  love 
Not  selfishly,  as  now,  —  possessing  less 
By  claiming  more,  —  but  with  a  proud  content 
In  yielding  home  and  honor  to  the  rest. 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  PROPHET.  95 

(She  speaks  in  a  lower  tone.) 
Here  might  I  help  :  my  heart  suggests  a  way 
It  shrinks  from,  save  extremity  of  need 
Demand  all  sacrifice.     If  I  confess 
One  timid  prayer,  and  justify  the  law 
Through  my  desire,  I  do  but  shut  the  door 
On  its  fulfilment. 

DAVID. 
Livia  ! 

LIVIA. 

Bid  me  speak, 
And  by  obedience  other  bliss  may  come. 

DAVID. 

Livia  !  fulfilment  of  your  prayer,  and  mine  ! 
So  many  hearts,  as  birds  in  mating-time, 
Draw  near  each  other  perched  on  hedge  and  spray  ; 
But  ours,  like  skylarks,  met  above  the  cloud  ! 
When  first  I  saw  you,  there  was  touch  of  wings, 
Far  up  in  loftier  solitudes  of  air 
A  warm  companionship.     You  cannot  sink 
Below  our  partnered  light,  nor  I,  alone, 
Aspire  beyond  it.     Come,  and  be  yourself 
The  law,  the  revelation  ! 

(He  stretches  out  his  arms:   LIVIA  throws  herself  upon  his 
breast.} 

LIVIA. 

David  !  now 
My  Prophet  and  my  love  ! 

(Kissing  him.} 

Oh  !  nevermore 
Shall  I,  thus  beckoned,  falter  on  the  way  ; 


96  THE  PROPHET,  [Acr  III. 

But  when  your  weary  spirit  leans  on  mine, 
And  draws  such  life  as  once,  from  hers  he  gave, 
The  Roman  father,  I  am  all  fulfilled. 
This  is  the  place,  the  purpose,  and  the  power 
For  me  ordained  :  be  not  less  bold  to  take 
Than  I  to  give  ! 

DAVID. 

(Returning  her  kisses.} 
This  sign  shall  triumph.     Lo  ! 
The  Enemy  but  made  his  last  assault : 
My  power  comes  back  :  the  temple  stands  complete  ! 


SCENE  VII. 

Midnight.  A  bed-chamber  in  the  PROPHET'S  house.  RHODA 
seated  near  a  small  table,  upon  which  is  a  shaded  lamp  ;  the 
New  Testament  in  her  lap  ;  the  child  asleep  in  a  crib  near 
her. 

RHODA. 

(Closing  the  volume.} 

It  is  not  there  ;  or  else  my  troubled  mind 
Fails  to  detect  it.     All  the  precious  words, 
All,  all,  I  find  ;  that,  like  a  mother's  kiss 
And  healing  breath  upon  her  baby's  hurt, 
Make  the  poor  heart  forget  its  bruise,  —  all,  all ! 
The  sweetness  of  the  Life  that  loved  the  world, 
So  hallowing  human  love  ;  the  promises 
That  keep  a  nobler  justice  still  alive 
Beneath  each  wrong  ;  the  nearness  of  the  Lord, 
As  of  a  wing  that  covers  and  defends,  — 
They  shine  upon  me.     Only  this  unsaid  ? 
He  imtst  have  said  it :  they  forgot  to  write. 
It  was  so  small  a  thing  for  Him,  —  ten  words 


SCENE  VII.]  THE  PROPHE^.  9; 

vx£>  ^^     3 Tf^ 

To  help  all  women,  — yea,  enough  were  three  ! 
A  single  breathing  from  His  lips  divine, 
And  we  were  saved  ;  for,  though  He  meant  so  much, 
Not  thus  commanding,  men  will  dare  deny  ! 

I  saw  the  text  so  clearly  in  my  soul,  — 

Already  marked,  and  laid  the  open  book 

On  David's  desk.     He  could  not  help  but  see, 

And  then  the  power  within  him  would  be  firm, 

I  prayed,  to  conquer  other  counsel.     Ah  ! 

What  course  remains  ?     My  tongue  deceives  my  heart , 

I  speak  but  foolishness,  and  vex  him  more. 

But  hers  makes  beautiful  a  darkened  thought, 

Makes  purity  a  secret  selfishness, 

And  holy  love  an  evil.     Oh,  't  is  false  ! 

Why,  what  did  he  declare  me  at  the  first  ?  — 

That  faith  and  love  are  one  !     Give  me  a  line, 

Clear,  pointed,  piercing,  from  the  armory  here, 

And  I  will  use  it  as  a  sword.     I  reach, 

But  they  are  hung  too  high,  or  over-weight 

My  hand  ;  and  I  am  helpless  to  contend, 

As  if  the  Lord  opposed  me. 

(The  child  moves  restlessly  in  his  sleep.} 

You  are  safe, 

My  baby,  even  from  the  world's  reproach,  — 
Of  love  begotten,  ere  its  nature  strayed. 
What  waits  for  you  and  me  ?     Confusion  comes 
When  that  which  in  the  universal  heart 
Alone  is  holy  finds  no  reverence. 

( The  child  wakens,  and  begins  to  cry.  She  takes  him  from  the 
crib,  folds  him  warmly  in  the  bed-clothes,  and  rocks  him 
upon  her  breast.} 

Hush,  darling,  hush  !     If  that  thy  mother's  woe 
Hath  pierced  thine  innocent,  unconscious  rest, 
7 


98  THE  PROPHET.  [Acx  III. 

And  wakened  thee  in  witless  trouble,  hush  ! 
Thou  art  too  young  for  anything  but  joy, 
Too  dear  for  shadowed  pain  ;  and  some  old  song 
Must  cheat  ray  sorrow  till  thou  sleep'st  again. 

(Sings.) 

"  My  baby  smiles,  at  last  awake : 

The  curtains  let  me  draw, 
And  on  my  happy  bosom  take 
The  child  he  never  saw. 

"  He  '11  come  to-night :  the  wind  's  at  rest, 

The  moon  is  full  and  fair  ; 
I  wear  the  dress  that  pleased  him  best, 
A  ribbon  in  my  hair. 

"So  lately  wed,  so  long  away  ! 

But,  oh  !  between  is  joy : 
He  left  a  wife  ;  he  '11  find  to-day 
A  mother  and  a  boy. 

"  Be  still,  my  heart !  the  sound  I  hear 

Is  not  the  step  I  know  ; 
But  hope  so  perfect  turns  to  fear, 
And  bliss  is  nigh  to  woe. 

"  What  voices  now  delay  his  tread, 

Or  plan  a  sweet  surprise  ? 
Come,  babe  !  and  we  shall  wake,  instead, 
The  rapture  of  his  eyes." 

The  moonlight,  through  the  open  door, 

Upon  her  forehead  smiled. 
Still  feet  and  frozen  heart  they  bore  : 

He  never  saw  his  child  ! 

(She  breaks  into  a  passion  of  weeping.) 


ACT   IV. 

SCENE  I.  —  THE  TEMPLE. 

Grand  ceremony  of  dedication :  the  main  aisle  is  thronged  with 
people,  —  men,  women,  and  children.  The  baptismal  font 
is  filled  with  water,  and  decorated  with  garlands.  Lights 
are  burning  in  the  seven-branched  candlesticks  :  a  flat  bra 
zier,  containing  live  coals,  stands  upon  the  altar.  The  Holy 
of  Holies  is  concealed  by  a  dark  purple  veil.  Upon  the  plat 
form,  in  the  centre,  on  the  right  hand  of  the  altar,  stands 
DAVID,  in  robes  of  white,  embroidered  with  gold  ;  on  the  left 
hand,  NIMROD  KRAFT,  as  high-priest,  in  robes  of  violet,  em 
broidered  with  silver,  and  a  tall  silver  mitre  upon  his  head ; 
behind  them  ten  members  of  the  COUNCIL  OF  TWELVE,  in 
robes  of  pale  green,  bordered  with  crimson  :  they  bear  symbols, 
representing  the  gifts  and  attributes  of  the  Church.  Four 
boys,  standing  below,  in  front  of  the  altar,  hold  censers  in 
their  hands. 

DAVID. 

IS  having  heard,  —  commanded  to  receive, 
By  Him  who  speaks  through  me,  —  do  you  possess 
As  somewhat  unto  them  whose  hearts  are  strong 
To  plant  His  service  in  devoted  lives, 
Permitted  ;  not  as  ordered  unto  all. 
The  sword  of  Truth  is  only  terrible 
Against  defiant  wills  :  whoso  obeys 
In  spirit,  though  his  human  reason  fail, 
Shall  yet  perceive  in  spirit,  and  be  glad. 
It  is  the  highest  faith  that  tramples  down 
Rebellious  intellect :  while  this  is  blind, 


100  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  IV. 

That  sees  ;  and  even  where  the  softer  heart 

May  tremble,  in  its  delicate  habit  jarred 

By  harmonies  of  love  that  first  disturb, 

'T  is  Faith  that  soothes  our  bosom's  frightened  bird, 

And  says,  "  The  nestlings  and  the  nest  are  safe." 

Remember  this  ;  and  still  exalt  your  souls 

To  light  that  purifies,  while  fancied  warmth 

May  stream  from  darkness.     That  revealed,  I  give  ; 

Not  that  expected,  or  of  men  preferred. 

And  Thou  who  gavest,  symbol  of  whose  truth 

These  living  coals  upon  Thine  altar  glow, 

Take,  from  the  hands  of  the  anointed  priest, 

Our  first  burnt-offering  !     As  it  melts  in  flame, 

And  radiance  out  of  darkened  dross  is  born, 

So  melt  from  us,  in  this  Thy  holy  house, 

All  understanding,  feeling,  thought,  and  love 

Not  meet  for  Thee,  till  every  soul,  refined, 

Burn  in  an  upward  glory  ! 

NIMROD. 

If  strange  fire, 

Hated  of  Thee,  the  food  of  heathen  gods, 
Come  forth  from  what  we  offer,  quench  the  flame, 
Or  turn  it  back,  consuming  these  my  hands  ! 
(  With  both  hands  he  casts  something  upon  the  coals.     A  clear, 

rose-colored  flame  arises,  steadily  increasing  in   brilliancy, 

until  all  the  interior  of  the  temple  is  tinted  by  its  radiance. 

The  boys  swing  the  censers  ;  and  the  clouds  of  perfumed 

smoke  are  illuminated  as  they  rise.) 

CHANT. 

(  With  full  organ  accompaniment.} 
Hosanna  !  harp  and  song 

Proclaim  the  consummation  : 
Homeless  on  earth  so  long, 
Thou  hast  an  habitation  1 


SCENE  I.]  THE  PROPHET.  101 

As  was  of  old  Thy  bid, 
Thine  holy  place  is  hid  : 
Descend,  and  dwell  amid 

Thy  chosen  nation  ! 
Hark  to  the  voice  of  Thy  welcome,  Jehovah  ! 

Make  this  Thy  city  proud, 

And  this  Thy  sacred  river  ! 
Guard  us  with  fire  and  cloud, 

And  arrows  from  Thy  quiver  ! 
Increase  us  where  we  stand, 
That  we  possess  the  land ; 
And  from  our  enemy's  hand 

With  might  deliver  ! 
Dwell  in  the  house  we  have  builded,  Jehovah  ! 

JONAS. 

(Among  the  congregation,  to  HUGH.) 
The  most  are  caught.     I  marvel  at  myself, 
Like  one,  who,  entering  on  a  company 
Filled  with  deceitful  wine,  tongues  thawed  and  hearts, 
Feels  an  unfriendly  soberness  of  blood, 
Until  their  folly  rights  him.     This  alone 
Were  harmless  luxury  for  stinted  souls, 
Save  for  its  rootage  in  their  homely  lives. 
The  evil  waxes  strong. 

HUGH. 

And  weak,  thereby, 

Our  chances.     Note  the  women's  faces,  here  ! 
At  first  I  thought  them  troubled  :  now  the  bait, 
Self-sacrifice,  upon  the  hook  of  faith, 
But  gently  frightens  :  they  already  feel 
Consent  approach,  and  shyly  play  with  it, 
To  gulp  more  perfectly  at  last. 


102  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  IV. 

JONAS. 

Be  still ! 

The  priest,  through  all  his  haze  of  sanctity, 
Fails  not  to  watch  us  :  meet  me  three  days  hence. 

NIMROD. 
(Addressing  the  people.} 

Even  as  He  charged,  sojourning  in  the  coasts 

Of  Gadara  :  tell  no  man  this  ye  saw  ! 

Who  come  to  us  must  their  belief  attest, 

Ere  they  be  worthy  of  the  signs.     Dull  ears 

Misread  the  revelations  :  clouded  eyes 

Behold  them  darkly.     Wherefore,  you  that  know, 

Be  as  enclosed  gardens  to  the  world. 

The  highway  is  no  Tabor,  meet  for  saints  ; 

The  market-place  is  no  Gethsemane. 

Keep  the  exceeding  nearness  of  the  Lord, 

This  day,  and  when  again  in  voice  and  flame 
He  visits  us,  like  secret  holiness 
We  share  as  brethren,  but  none  else  than  we. 
I  gave  you  once  the  Prophet's  parable, 
Here  verified  :  the  tender  roots  of  faith, 
That  feed  such  glorious  summer-leaves  of  life, 
Lie  deep  below,  and  wither  when  laid  bare. 
A  happy  bond,  indeed,  is  speech  of  that 
Which  moves  the  heart ;  but  holier,  sweeter  far, 
The  bond  of  silence,  guarding  truth  revealed  ! 

MORDECAI. 

(To  SIMEON.) 

Wise  words,  and  most  devout !     But  wherefore  now 
Adds  he  this  law,  when,  publishing  the  first, 
We  gather  thousands  ? 


SCENE  II.]  THE  PROPHET.  IO3 

SIMEON. 

Not  to  any  one 

May  I  declare,  even  that  I  know  his  mind. 
I  say  not  that  I  know  it ;  be  assured, 
No  less,  that  also  wisdom  orders  here. 

DAVID. 
(To  the  people.} 

Once  more  my  mouth  is  opened  ere  ye  go. 

In  every  house  the  fatness  of  our  land 

Prepares  your  feast ;  the  shawms  and  sackbuts  wait, 

With  lighter  measures,  for  rejoicing  feet ; 

The  day  is  made  a  glory,  far  and  wide, 

On  shore  and  river.     Issuing  forth  to  these, 

Let  not  your  perfect  exaltation  sink 

Even  to  the  gladsome  level  of  the  time. 

Behold  in  all,  as  out  of  nothing  wrought, 

What  here  the  soul  commanded,  and  the  hand, 

A  willing  slave,  fulfilled  !     As  it  hath  been, 

So,  with  increasing  forces,  let  it  be; 

And,  from  the  loins  of  us  that  humbly  serve, 

Shall  start  the  lineage  of  millennial  kings  ! 

(Sound  of  the  organ.  The  PROPHET,  HiGH-PRlEST,  and 
members  of  the  TWELVE  come  forward  to  the  front  of  the 
platform,  and  lift  their  hands,  -while  the  people  gradually 
disperse.} 

SCENE  II. 

A  room  in  the  house  of  JONAS.  Night.  A  small  lamp  burn 
ing  upon  the  table ;  the  shutters  closed.  JONAS,  his  wife 
SARAH,  HUGH,  and  HIRAM,  a  member  of  the  Church. 

SARAH. 

Walls  hear,  't  is  said  ;  but  they  've  no  tongues  to  blab. 
Up  street  and  down,  so  far  as  I  can  see, 


104  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  IV. 

:T  is  lonely  as  a  graveyard  :  use  your  chance, 
And  well,  and  quickly  ! 

JONAS. 

Many  more  are  ripe 

For  what  we  may  determine  :  all  they  need 
Is  certainty  of  equal  power  opposed  ; 
And  this,  within  the  compass  of  our  flock, 
They  see  not,  neither  is  it  found  :  so  strong, 
So  as  with  Devil's  wisdom  skilled  to  work, 
Is  Nimrod  Kraft.     But  one  thing  hath  he  taught 
Whereby  we  profit,  —  to  keep  counsel  close, 
Direction  in  a  single  pair  of  hands, 
And  move,  when  ready,  backed  by  secret  force. 
Why,  such  a  man  profanes  conspiracy, 
So  using  it !     His  weapons,  in  our  hands, 
Scoured  by  the  better  purpose,  are  made  sure. 

HUGH. 

The  hands  are  yours  that  shape  the  counter-plan  ; 
And  mine  are  idle  till  you  bid  them  do. 
Whence  comes  the  equal  power  ? 

SARAH. 

If  men  are  weak, 

Then  women  easily  may  foil  the  law. 
It  were  the  rarest  show,  good  faith  !  to  see 
The  battle  left  to  us  ;  our  recompense, 
To  own  their  weakness  whole,  which,  but  for  us, 
Would  be  divided. 

JONAS. 

Nay,  you  haste  too  much. 
Already  half  the  leaven  of  discontent 
Is  kneaded  up  in  their  submissive  clay ; 


SCENE  II.]  THE  PROPHET.  105 

And  that  which  drew  us,  and  we  still  accept, 
Grows  one  with  what  we  loathe.     Thus  open  war 
Were  vainly  ventured :  leaving  them,  we  lose 
Possession  and  its  chances.     What  remains  ? 
The  help  abiding  in  the  outer  law,  — 
A  hand  still  stretched,  to  smite  where  it  forbids, 
As  this,  yet  spare  whatever  else  we  hold. 

HUGH. 

Then,  as  I  guess,  you  guide  the  Gentile  law 
To  his  confusion  only  ?     Can  you  stay 
Its  meddling  there,  nor  open  other  pleas, 
Which,  in  the  end,  may  set  us  where  we  stood 
At  the  beginning  ? 

JONAS. 

There  my  secret  lies. 

The  world  is  pressing  on  us  :  right  and  left 
New  colonies  have  passed  the  prairie  lands, 
To  settle  on  the  river-bluffs,  and  build 
Some  cabin-city  they  believe  shall  be 
A  centre  of  the  world.     The  chief  of  one, 
And  potent  in  their  county  government, 
Is  kin  of  mine  ;  and  messages  have  passed. 
That  half  the  plot,  and  most  of  danger,  falls 
To  them  who  work  outside,  not  seeming  leagued, 
Demands  advantage.     What  were  ours  to  give, 
After  success,  and  what  were  fair  to  give,  — 
So  that  the  leadership  secures  to  us,  — 
Needs  final  parley  :  time  and  place  are  fixed. 

HIRAM. 

As  here  and  now  declared  :  this  day  I  bore 
Your  message  and  its  answer.     Colonel  Hyde 
Sees  lighter  work  in  leading  on  his  men 
Than  holding  back  :  the  excitement  grows  apace. 


Io6  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  IV. 

Give  evidence  to  make  pretence  of  law 
A  legal  movement,  should  the  law  inquire : 

He  asks  no  more. 

HUGH. 

The  revelation,  say  ? 

JONAS. 

Just  that !     With  all  the  priest's  freemasonry 
To  keep  the  usage  secret,  here  and  there 
Are  leaky  souls  :  the  raftsmen,  as  they  pass 
The  landing ;  firemen,  wooding  up  their  boats  ; 
Or  peddling  agents,  prowling  through  the  land, — 
Catch  hints  of  it,  and  bear  disfigured  forth. 
Thus  interference  threatens  either  way ; 
But  we  avert  a  ruin  possible, 
And  seat  ourselves  in  power,  to  change  and  save, 
By  pointing  the  attack. 

HUGH. 

And  yet  I  've  heard 

How  one,  that,  in  the  guns  against  him  fired, 
Had  rammed  blank  cartridges,  forgot  a  ball. 
Your  plan  is  perfect,  if  the  guidance  holds  — 

SARAH. 

( Interrupting  h  im . ) 

What  man  are  you,  to  fear  the  lesser  risk  ? 
The  thing  is  coming.  Standing  now  to  us, 
You  lose  no  more,  though  interference  fail, 
And  gain  by  any  change. 

JONAS. 

The  fact  of  kin 

In  him  whose  hand  must  grapple  with  the  priest 
Is  my  security.     Full  match  is  he, 


SCENE  III.]  THE  PROPHET.  107 

As  you  shall  know.     We  meet,  to  settle  all, 
Beyond  the  river-bend,  just  where  the  bluff 
Turns  inland,  and  the  little  brook  comes  down. 
'T  is  thickly  wooded  :  there  the  Indians  made 
Their  final  stand ;  and  rows  of  bleaching  ribs 
Shine,  like  the  fangs  of  steel-traps,  from  the  grass. 
Even  border  hunters,  bold  to  hug  a  bear, 
Avoid  it  after  nightfall :  we  are  safe 
From  even  suspicion's  ear,  conferring  there. 
Will  you  go  with  me  ? 

HUGH. 

Coward  am  I  not, 

Though  cautious,  as  befits  a  man  full-grown. 
But  woman's  virtue  caution  never  was  : 
Only  the  rash  are  brave  to  her.     I  '11  go  ! 


SCENE  III. 

Night.     A  street  in  the  city. 

HUGH. 

(Walking slowly  homewards.'] 
Were  he  alone,  he  might  conspire  alone, 
And  welcome  !     This  is  shrewdly  done,  if  his  ; 
The  more,  if  hers.     I  thought  her  not  so  wise. 
If  interference  menaces  indeed, 
And  one  might  make  conditions,  then,  why,  then 
Comes  chance  to  seize  o'erthrown  authority, — 
No  matter  whose,  —  and  let  it  stick  to  me. 
So  much  there  is  of  wisdom  in  the  plan  : 
We  lose  by  quiet,  and  we  can  but  gain 
By  new  disturbance.     Had  he  promised  aught  — 
But 't  is  the  same  !     What  as  an  offer  fails, 
Can  I  exact :  which  side  goes  up  or  down, 


Io8  THE  PROPHET.  [Acr  IV 

One  moment  both  are  balanced  evenly, 
And  then  a  hand  decides.     The  man 's  a  fool 
Who  thinks  to  cheapen  revolution's  cost, 
And  feed  enthusiasm  upon  itself, 
Without  the  hope  of  benefit :  go  to  ! 
I  may  be  made  a  cat's-paw,  but  sharp-eyed 
To  grab  one  chestnut,  —  let  me  see  it  first ! 

NIMROD. 

(Suddenly  appearing  at  his  side.} 
I  '11  show  you  !     What !   you  meditate  escape  ? 
Stand  still !     I  will  not  touch  you,  since  you  must. 
How  left  you  Jonas  ? 

HUGH. 

In  his  usual  mood  ; 
Dissenting,  yet  not  disobedient. 

NIMROD. 

And  yours  the  same  ?     Should  I  repeat  his  words, 

While  every  tone  is  in  your  ears  alive, 

You  would  deny  them :  so  I  waste  no  breath. 

I  would  have  suffered  you  to  take  the  leap 

To  that  fair  quicksand-scum  you  think  is  turf, 

And  said,   "  Good  riddance  !  "  —  save   that  you   can 

serve ; 

And  that  you  will,  is  truth,  when  I  declare 
You  shall  not  serve  unpaid. 

HUGH. 

A  Devil's  brain 
Is  yours  ! 

NIMROD. 

A  brain  that  once  he  owned,  perhaps ; 
Now  by  the  Lord,  to  his  discomfiture, 
Tuned  otherwise. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  PROPHET.  109 

HUGH   (aside}. 
Why,  even  here,  to  me, 

With  both  hands  full  of  treachery  and  bribes, 
He  says  such  things  !     That 's  genius,  on  my  soul ! 

(Aloud.} 

The  Lord  directs  you  ?   well,  then  also  me, 
If  I  should  do  your  will. 

NIMROD. 

My  instrument 
Is  surely  His,  in  spite  of  halting  faith. 

HUGH. 
What  would  you  have  me  do  ? 

NIMROD. 

Stay  what  you  are, 

A  traitor  !  plot  and  plan  our  overthrow, 
With  him  and  others  ;  only,  as  a  spout 
Collects,  from  every  shingle  on  the  roof, 
What  rain  it  sheds,  to  fill  the  thirsty  tank, 
Convey  to  me  your  knowledge,  me  alone  ! 

HUGH. 

The  Lord  commands  at  will  what  He  forbids, 
It  seems,  or  you  interpret  loosely :  be  it  so  ! 
I  '11  grant  His  purpose  better  known  to  you, 
And  let  you  patch  the  breakage  in  His  law  ; 
But,  if  the  open  virtue  earns  reward, 
This  claims  a  higher  payment ! 

NIMROD. 

In  your  work 
Will  soon  be  shown  the  form  of  your  desire, 


no  THE  PROPHET.  [Acr  IV. 

Which,  being  seen,  I  '11  make  reality. 
Though  partly  known  to  me,  I  dare  not  speak 
The  Prophet's  mind,  but  bid  you  ponder  this  : 
If  you  were  set  aside,  not  faithless  charged, 
Nor  any  virtue  lacking,  but  for  use, 
As  one  unjustly  to  conspiracy 
Compelled,  by  justice  to  be  beckoned  back, 
And  crowned  by  honor  when  the  plot  is  crushed, 
How  then  ? 

HUGH  (aside}. 

This  is  a  touch  beyond  me.     Driven, 
While  will  and  purpose  wholly  seemed  my  own, 
To  do  the  thing  he  wanted,  —  can  it  be  ? 

(Aloud.) 

"  How  then  ?  "     'T  is  just  another  miracle. 
There  have  been  men  whose  tongues  or  hands  obeyed 
Some  dark,  mysterious  force,  and  did  the  things 
Their  souls  resisted :  am  I  one  of  such  ? 

NIMROD. 

It  well  may  be  :  the  working  of  the  power, 
Itself,  is  mystery.     Weary  not  your  mind, 
As  if  to  your  account  were  aught  set  down, 
Even  seeming  treachery.     So  much  we  know, 
Source,  pretext,  object,  chance,  and  means  of  aid, 
That,  had  your  virtue  yielded,  we  were  safe  ; 
But  time  is  gained  since  you  endure  the  test, 
And  labor  lessened.     Here  your  service  lies. 
First,  come  with  me,  and  state  the  very  truth, 
Mindful  that,  if  you  swerve,  my  knowledge  waits 
To  prop  your  memory.     This  rehearsal  made, 
And  duty  fixed  in  what  concerns  us  next, 
We  '11  talk  of  your  exaltment  and  reward. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  PROPHET. 


SCENE   IV. 

LIVIA'S  house.      DAVID   seated  in  a   cushioned  arm-chair: 
Li VI A  on  a  low  stool  beside  him. 

DAVID. 

The  restlessness  that  stirs  in  feet  and  limbs, 

The  dull  confusions  that  besiege  the  brain, 

The  strange  uncertainties  of  heart,  pass  off 

When  you  are  near  me  :  overhead  in  blue 

The  sun  comes  out ;  and  life  is  like  a  land 

Where   tempered  winds   kiss   buds,   and    make   them 

flowers. 
What  is  your  magic  ?     Nay,  it  is  yourself  ! 

LIVIA. 

It  is  that  I,  who  follow  and  believe, 
So  spared  the  high  anxieties  of  soul 
In  you  that  cleave  your  passage  to  the  truth, 
Am  ever  fresh,  a  little  way  beneath, 
To  stay  your  weariness  from  further  fall. 
The  light  your  being  brings  transfuses  mine 
With  strength  and  gladness  ever  to  uphold 
Myself,  upholding  you. 

DAVID. 

The  gift  of  tongues 

If  I  bestowed,  yet  scarce  the  gift  of  song. 
Whence  come  your  hymns,  as  eloquent  of  faith 
As  Miriam  sang,  between  the  sea  and  Shur,  — 
Rejoicing  strains,  that  suit  our  cheerful  laws, 
And  shame  the  Gentiles'  wailing  psalmody  ? 

LIVIA. 
'T  is  consecration  of  a  skill  profane 


112  THE  PROPHET.  [Acx  IV. 

Wherein  my  soul  found  foolish  peace.     I  sang, 
In  that  dark  time  before  I  saw  your  eyes, 
Of  knightly  harps,  and  willow-wearing  maids, 
Of  jewelled  crowns,  red  swords,  and  evening  stars, 
And  lonely  tombs,  and  ghosts  that  wept  and  went, 
One  burden  beat  through  all.     Such  songs  betrayed 
The  lack  of  that  which  sweeter  is  than  song, 
Now  found  ;  but  raptures  of  believing  bliss 
Seek  the  same  passage,  and  the  single  voice, 
Chanting  in  them,  becomes  the  speech  of  all ! 
Stay,  would  you  hear  a  ditty  which  yourself, 
As  one  whose  arm  may  brush  accordant  strings, 
Nor  mark  in  passing,  did  awake  in  me  ? 
A  secret,  else,  and  dumb  for  other  ears. 

DAVID. 

Oh,  sing  !     Though  David's  craft  you  exercise 
In  being  silent,  yet  my  soul  demands. 

LIVIA. 

( Takes  a  guitar  from  a  table,  tunes  the  strings,  and  after  a 

soft,  subduing  prelude,  sings.) 
Let  words  be  faint,  and  song  refuse 

To  frame  the  speech  divine  : 
Look  on  me,  love,  and  all  they  lose 

Your  eyes  shall  sing  to  mine  ! 
I  ask  no  voice  to  breathe  my  bliss, 

Or  bid  its  answer  come  ; 
For  lips  are  silent  when  they  kiss, 

And  meeting  hearts  are  dumb. 

A  wave  that  slides  to  clasp  a  wave, 

On  mine  your  being  flows  ; 
The  pang  you  took,  the  peace  you  gave, 

Must  wed  in  such  repose. 
So,  love,  your  eyes  alone  shall  tell 

What  else  were  unconfessed  ; 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  PROPHET.  113 

And,  if  too  fondly  mine  compel, 
Oh,  hide  them  on  your  breast ! 


DAVID. 

Livia  !     What  are  you  ?     What  triumphant  force 
Flows  out  from  you,  and  knits  my  blood  with  yours  ? 
How  is  it  that  the  liquid  dark  of  eyes 
I  gaze  on  grows  a  broadening  sphere  of  light, 
Enclosing  me  forever  ?  — touching  so 
Your  hand,  that  suddenly  a  warmer  world 
Beckons  and  wooes  as  if  it  might  be  mine  ?  — 
That  in  your  cheek  the  blossom-tender  flesh, 
As  it  were  spirit,  sanctifies  my  lips  ? 
Oh  !  you  are  beautiful. 

LIVIA. 

Because  I  love  ! 

All  happiness  prints  beauty  on  the  face. 
I  cannot  keep  it  like  a  bridal-dress, 
Laid  in  a  drawer,  with  fragrant  orris-root, 
And  wear  my  working-gowns  again.     I  'ni  bold, 
And  proud  of  boldness,  glad  because  of  pride, 
And  love  the  more  for  gladness  !     Thus  my  heart 
Beats  in  a  ring,  beginning  as  it  ends, — 
A  magic  circle,  and  you  dwell  therein  ! 

DAVID. 
My  love  ! 

LIVIA. 

You  say  it,  and  I  echo  back. 
What  more  is  freedom  to  a  beaten  slave, 
Than  this  to  me  ?     Oh  !   I  could  sit,  as  now, 
And  study  all  the  beauty  of  your  eyes, 
Where  nameless  color  brightens  here  to  blue, 
And  there  turns  brown,  until  the  dusk  should  leave 
8 


H4  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  IV. 

Their  sparkle  only.     I  could  part  your  locks, 

And  from  my  fingers  shake  their  wandering  gloss, 

To  seize  again,  and  soothe  with  creeping  thrills, 

Till  you  should  dip  in  slumber  ere  you  knew. 

I  am  as  one  that  scarcely  can  believe 

Past  poverty  is  o'er,  but  ever  spends, 

To  teach  himself  his  hands  are  verily  gold. 

If  you  have  feared,  lest  shame  and  danger  wait 

To  blight  the  second  marriage  of  your  heart, 

Leave  me  to  meet  them,  and  to  tread  them  down  ! 

DAVID. 

I  fear  no  more  ;  I  wait  no  longer  :  come  ! 


SCENE  V. 

The  council-room.     DAVID,  NIMROD,  SIMEON,  and  MOR- 
DECAI  in  secret  conference. 

DAVID. 

The  danger's  real :  shut  within  our  camp, 
Would  perfidy,  in  time,  consume  itself ; 
But  thus,  in  league  with  outer  ignorance 
That  easily  breeds  hate,  it  threatens  harm. 
Have  you  assured  yourself  how  much  of  truth 
In  this  alliance  lies  ?  —  with  how  much  power 
It  arms  itself  ? 

NIMROD. 

Last  night  my  messengers 
Came  back  from  close  espial  of  the  land. 
With  tongues  disguised  to  speak  the  Gentile  mind, 
They  won  so  much  as  Colonel  Hyde  sees  fit 
To  let  his  followers  know  ;  and  strangely  shows 


SCENE  V.]  THE  PROPHE7\  115 

Our  Church's  image  in  their  looking-glass  ! 
Hereof  they  speak  :  a  faction  needing  help 
Among  us  ;  hints  of  strange,  unholy  rites 
To  be  suppressed  ;  and  promised  evidence 
(For  he,  considerate  of  future  place, 
First  means  to  lift  the  banner  of  the  law)  ; 
Then,  last  of  all,  his  godless  crew  expects 
Plunder  and  ravage  !     They  would  snatch  away, 
With  unclean  hands,  the  Lord's  high  heritage,  — 
They  careful  of  the  faith  !     The  Devil  laughs, 
Methinks,  to  see  such  Christian  volunteers 
Assail  our  industry  with  hands  of  theft, 
Our  laws  with  sinful  bodies,  and  our  prayers 
With  tongues  that  cast  defilement  when  they  speak. 

MORDECAI. 

Oh,  sons  of  Belial !     But  the  Lord  shall  raise 
His  hand  to  smite,  as  at  the  gates  of  AY. 

NIMROD. 

What  have  we  done  that  should  alarm  their  law  ? 
Lo  !  strife  and  murder  in  this  border  land 
It  scarcely  chides,  is  patient  of  free  lust, 
Yet  makes  a  culprit  of  the  sanctioned  love 
That  broadens  home.     It  waits  for  evidence. 
I  would  not  counsel  rashness  :  let-it  wait, 
And  not  receive  ! 

DAVID. 

Then  is  their  pretext  vain  ; 
For  we,  appealing  to  the  selfsame  source, 
Possess  law's  shield,  to  hold  against  its  sword 
Wherewith  they  threaten.     That  were  best  of  all ; 
But  how  prevent  the  tales,  if  true  or  false, 
Which  may  be  carried  ? 


Il6  THE  PROPHET.  [Acr  IV. 

NIMROD. 

(After  a  pause.} 

He  who  governs  us 

Once  smote  directly  :  will  He  do  so  now  ? 
The  liar  once  fell  dead  ;  the  enemy 
Was  slaughtered,  and  no  child  of  all  his  seed 
Renewed  the  race  :  even  mercy  was  reproach, 
And  Moses  felt  the  anger  of  the  Lord, 
When  human  plea  persuaded  him  to  spare. 
How  much  the  more  than  what  was  punished  thus 
Doth  Jonas  purpose  !     Why  delays  the  bolt  ? 
Why  rusts  the  blade  in  God's  closed  armory  ? 
Or,  waits  He  for  our  call  ?  means  He  to  test 
What  zeal  and  courage  guard  His  holy  place  ? 
Then,  cry  aloud  !     As  it  was  said  of  old, 
They  were  not,  for  the  Lord  had  taken  them, 
So  in  your  soul  command,  Let  him  not  be  ! 

SIMEON. 

Ay  !  that  were  shortest  passage  to  the  end  : 
Let  him  not  be  ! 

MORDECAI. 

Who  from  the  Anakim 
His  hosts  delivered,  over  Arnon  led, 
And  gave  the  men  of  Heshbon  to  their  hands, 
Will,  from  exceeding  smallness  of  this  prayer, 
Be  merry  in  his  mind  !     No  giants  here 
Oppose  our  path,  but  one  malicious  dwarf, 
Whose  pointed  tongue  may  verily  stab  to  hurt : 
Let  him  not  be  ! 

DAVID. 

If  some  mysterious  ail, 
Even  while  we  speak,  should  palsy  all  his  frame, 


SCENE  V.]  THE  PROPHET.  n? 

Yea,  stop  with  sudden  check  the  wheels  of  life, 
The  thing  were  good  ;  but  thus  to  stretch  a  hand, 
And  beckon,  consciously,  the  fate  on  watch  — 
Why  should  it  seem  so  different  ?     What  sense 
Makes  us  so  thoughtless  when  we  plant  a  life, 
Knowing  the  awful  sanctity  it  holds, 
When  we  would  take  away  ?     Yet,  if  life  serve, 
Fulfilling  as  it  may  His  will  in  man, 
Then  why  not  death  ? 

(He  pauses,  looks  upwards  with  an   expression  of  profound 
abstraction,  and  continues,  as  if  speaking  to  himself.} 

I  see  the  poor  beast's  eyes, 
And  that  tremendous  question  hid  in  them, 
I  tried  to  answer.     Like  a  human  life 
I  loved  the  dog's  ;  but  when  the  other  came, 
With  certain  madness  in  his  slavering  jaws, 
And  sprang  upon  and  bit  and  tumbled  him, 
Then  staggered  forward,  seeking  where  to  die, 
My  hands  were  armed  with  pitying  cruelty. 
And  he,  so  doomed,  forefeeling  all  his  doom, 
Crouched  down,  and,  whimpering,  read  some  fatal  change 
Set  in  my  face  :  the  liquid,  lustrous  eyes, 
So  sad  with  yearning  after  human  speech, 
With  love  that  never  can  declare  itself 
So  tender,  now  so  wild  with  dumb  despair, 
Implored  in  vain  :  it  was  a  tragedy, 
O  God  !  and  I  the  unrelenting  fate. 
'T  was  kindness,  in  the  shape  of  monstrous  guilt 
Disguised  ;  and,  for  his  sake  and  mine,  I  prayed 
That,  through  continuous  being,  he  might  know 
And  pardon. 

Even  so  doth  God  prevent  ? 
Is  moral  madness,  some  implanted  seed 


n8  THE  PROPHET.  [Acr  IV. 

Of  harm  to  all,  thus  hindered  in  our  lives, 
Though  by  the  uncomprehendecl  blow  should  bleed 
A  thousand  loving  hearts  ?     I  thought  so  then. 
It  seems  not  much,  when  such  an  aim  demands  : 
"  Let  him  not  be  !  "     The  words  themselves  seduce 
With  seeming  innocence,  —  and  each  a  stab  : 
"  Let  him  not  be  !  " 

(ATimrod  makes  a  sign  to  Simeon  and  Mordecai,  who  steal 
quietly  out  of  the  council-room.} 

I  shrink  from  asking  that 
Which  in  my  secret  soul  I  hope  may  come  : 
Why  should  I  shrink  ?     The  days  wherein  we  live 
Allow  no  Moses-nature  ;  but  for  him 
The  Lord  descended,  counselled  face  to  face, 
And  hallowed  slaughter  with  direct  command. 
Am  I  so  far  from  ancient  holiness, 
I  dare  not  pray  His  hand  should  touch  the  man 
Who  plots  my  ruin  ?     How  bring,  otherwise, 
Conditions  which  make  sure  the  covenant  ? 
Here  lies  a  must :  it  calls  me  to  subdue 
My  frightened  fancy,  and  forget  the  heart 
Which  tries  to  make  itself  accomplice  :  yes, 
I  will  implore  His  vengeance,  —  but  no  more. 

NIMROD. 

And  should  He  answer,  as  my  faith  expects, 
The  prayer  is  justified  unto  your  soul. 
Your  dread  is  but  the  birth-pang  of  the  law 
Reborn  in  you  ;  and  when  in  living  flesh 
It  smiles,  and  waxes  strong,  you  will  forget 
All  save  the  glory. 

DAVID. 

Be  your  words  fulfilled  ! 
The  thing  you  counselled  is  already  done. 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  PROPHET.  "9 

What  in  the  soul  one  fleeting  moment  stands 
Is  asked  beyond  recall :  let  us  go  hence  ! 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  VI. 

A  narrow,  wooded  ravine  between  bluffs  crowned  with  rock. 
Late  twilight.    JONAS  and  HUGH  tinder  a  tree. 

HUGH. 

(Aside,  looking  around  him.} 

A  pokerish  place  !     There  's  something  in  the  air 
Breeds  thoughts  of  murder ;  and  I  'm  cold  with  creeps 
That  pinched  my  flesh,  from  stepping  on  a  spine, 
Wherefrom  the  skull,  so  loosened,  rolled  away. 
Were  but  the  business  done  ! 
(Aloud.} 

He  's  in  no  haste, 

Or  we  too  hasty :  he  outstays  the  time. 
Once  more  reflect  upon  the  thing  you  do  : 
Is  it  well  done  ? 

JONAS. 

I  settled  that  at  first. 

There  's  safety  in  surprise  :  if  Nimrod  guessed 
The  range  of  popular  impatience,  then, 
I  grant  you,  were  some  hazard  to  be  met. 
But  he  is  idle,  seeks  additional  wives, 
And  feels  as  certain  of  the  power  he  holds 
As  doth  a  man  of  money  in  his  fist, 
While  at  his  back  the  robber's  club  is  raised 
To  stretch  him  dumb. 

HUGH. 

A  strong  comparison  ! 


120  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  IV. 

JONAS. 

It  suits  his  case.     You  think  I  underrate 
The  man's  intelligence  ;  why,  not  a  whit ! 
Our  lucky  chance  is  his  security, 
Which  we  must  use  before  a  breath  disturb. 

{A  low  iv  his  tie  is  heard.") 
The  Colonel's  signal ! 

{He  whistles  in  answer.} 

Mark  you,  when  he  comes, 
How  perfectly  he  understands  his  work, 
And  sets  all  parts  together  till  they  fit ! 
That 's  where  the  lawyer  tells. 

COLONEL  HYDE    (approaching). 

Good  even  to  both  ! 

Your  friend  this,  Cousin  Jonas  ?     Here  's  my  hand  ; 
And  now,  to  business  !     Something  must  be  done, 
If  done  at  all,  before  the  week  is  out,  — 
That  is,  as  you  and  I,  and  this  your  friend, 
Desire  to  happen  :  something  else  is  sure. 
The   excitement  grows  ;    and   soon   your  priest,  fore 
warned, 

Will  organize  resistance  ;  then  comes  war 
To  waste  the  property  we  want  to  save. 
Have  you  the  evidence  ?     A  document 
Were  best ;  but  witnesses  will  answer  here. 

JONAS. 

The  written  revelation  which  he  read 

Was  laid  within  the  ark  :  that  you  must  seize, 

And  bear  away  ;  resistance  then  will  stop. 

Our  witness  must  be  forced,  unwillingly, 

After  arrest :   I  bring  you  here  the  names 

Of  them  who  can  be  driven  to  testify. 

You  understand  ? 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  PROPHET.  121 

COLONEL   HYDE. 

If  they  the  practice  prove  ! 
The  revelation  shows  intent,  no  more, 
And  violates  no  law. 

JONAS. 

To  all  of  these 

The  fact  is  patent :  where  you  need  one  case, 
We  give  you  five. 

COLONEL   HYDE. 

As  fingers  of  a  hand 

That  soon  shall  clutch  them  !     'T  is  enough  for  law, 
Which  started,  many  accidents  may  chance 
Before  the  process  finds  a  legal  stop. 
And  now,  conditions  !     You  demand  the  power ; 
I,  its  equivalent,  a  part  secured, 
A  part  reserved  for  possible  future  need, 
So  you  gain  influence  — 

JONAS. 

And  you  assure 
The  chance  of  power !     Neither  can  promise  all. 

HUGH    (aside). 

Where  two  so  bargain,  there  's  not  margin  left 
To  hold  a  third. 

COLONEL   HYDE. 

The  time  for  huckstering  's  gone. 

JONAS. 

Missing  my  aim,  comes  little  ;  winning,  all ! 


122  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  IV. 

COLONEL   HYDE. 

Then  here  's  an  end  of  parley  :  let  us  go  ! 
This  is  no  place  for  pleasure. 

JONAS. 

So,  farewell ! 
Your  stipulations  hang  on  my  success. 

[Exit  COLONEL  HYDE. 

Come,  Hugh  !  the  night  is  cloudy  :   I  must  seek, 
More  with  my  feet  than  eyes,  the  ticklish  path. 

[He  moves  away. 

HUGH. 

Go  on,  but  slowly.     I  have  dropped  my  knife, 
And  look  for  't  with  my  hands.     Before  you  reach 
The  slippery  corner  where  we  climb  the  bluff, 

I  '11  overtake  you. 

[JONAS  disappears  in  the  gloom* 

Shall  I  overtake 

Indeed  ?     I  'm  not  so  sure  :  yes,  Colonel  Hyde, 
An  accident,  if  prayed  for,  might  occur  ! 
They  told  me  nothing  ;  but  the  gift  of  guess 
Remains  to  me  ;  and,  ugh  !  't  is  horrible. 
I  '11  neither  see  nor  know  !     The  skull  I  kicked, 
Used  as  a  pillow,  would  not  breed  such  dreams. 

(He  moves  onward,  cautiously.) 
Ha  !  what  was  that  ?     Along  the  darkened  path 
Something,  still  darker,  moves  !     I  hear  no  sound, 
And  yet  the  silence  seems  a  piercing  cry  ! 
I  feel  the  lifting  of  my  hair  :   I  '11  stop 
Both  ears,  shut  eyes,  and  think  of  anything, 
Till  I  can  count  ten  thousand,  then,  go  on  ! 


SCENE  VII.]  THE  PROPHET.  123 

SCENE  VII. 

A  room  in  the  PROPHET'S  house. 
DAVID. 

No,  you  are  not  the  same  !     The  simple  trust 
Which  found  content  in  what  I  was  —  and  this 
Includes  whatever  more  I  am  become  — 
Hath  left  your  eyes  :  your  tongue  is  silenter  : 
You  speak  but  matters  which  compel  your  speech, 
And  in  your  ways  make  hints  of  things  unsaid. 
I  say  not  this  in  blame  :  you  cannot  be 
More  than  you  are,  or  other  :    I  had  hoped 
There  were  a  force  in  faith,  a  warmth  in  love, 
To  hold  your  nature  side  by  side  with  mine, 
And  take  a  larger  property  in  me 
Through  that  which  only  seems  to  lessen  it. 
My  hope  is  vain. 

RHODA. 

Oh  !  wait  a  little  while, 
My  husband, —  as  you  still  and  ever  are. 
I  vexed  you  sore  in  what  I  thought  was  good, 
And  that  seems  evil  which  you  ask  of  me  : 
It  was  not  so  at  first.     I  lean  on  you 
With  all  my  weight;  when  you  would  rest,  in  turn, 
I  've  nothing  but  my  simple,  loving  heart, 
To  stay  your  weariness.     I  cannot  urge 
Your  spirit  forward  on  its  loftier  ways  ; 
Nor  did  you  ask  it,  save  my  faith  be  aid, 
When  first  we  loved.     Take  what  another  brings, 
You  will  not  find  me  selfish  :  take  so  much, 
But  keep  your  heart  for  me  ! 


124  THE  PROPHET.  [Acx  IV. 

DAVID. 

Why,  it  is  yours, 

No  less  than  then  !     A  very  ghost  of  change 
Is  what  you  fancy.     Shut  your  eyes,  and  call 
My  face  into  your  memory  :  't  is  the  same. 

RHODA. 

Ah,  David,  David  !  I  would  shut  their  sight 
Forever,  could  you  in  my  ears  again 
So  live.     There  's  something  in  a  woman's  heart, 
I  think,  so  delicate,  so  soft  a  force, 
That  it  will  cling  like  steel,  nor  feel  a  bruise  ; 
Yet,  loose  one  fibre,  it  may  bleed  to  death. 

DAVID. 

I  have  not  loosed,  nor  will  !     Nay,  I  have  grieved, 
Bent  down  to  human  sympathy  with  you, 
And  hoarded  tenderness  you  have  not  claimed, 
To  soothe  you  till  you  see.     What  can  I  more  ? 
Take  back  the  revelation  and  the  law  ? 
Reverse  the  advancing  work,  and,  step  by  step, 
Make  all  things  as  they  were  ?     I  see  your  eyes 
Lighten  at  this,  as  they  had  nigh  forgot 
To  shine  :  I  do  believe  you  wish  so  much  ! 

RHODA  (slowly}. 

No,  no  !     Not  if  your  happiness  depends,  — 
Not  less  of  power,  —  not  all  the  work  undone  — 
Oh,  understand  me,  David  ! 

DAVID. 

Patience,  first ! 

Suspend  your  feeling  till  around  us  springs 
The  newer  life,  then  judge  if  it  be  false. 
But  if,  indeed,  arises  primitive  peace, 


SCENE  VII.]  THE  PROPHET.  125 

And  all  that  in  the  patriarchal  years 
Made  manhood  pure,  and  womanhood  content, 
Then  I,  by  others,  not  of  mine  own  faith, 
Am  justified  to  you. 

SARAH  (entering}. 

Where  have  you  put 

Jonas,  my  husband  ?     Give  him  back  to  me, 
Or  I  will  raise  a  tumult  in  the  land  ! 

DAVID. 
Your  husband  ? 

SARAH. 

Ay,  and  I  'm  his  only  wife. 
You  have  him  hidden  :  set  him  free,  I  say  ! 

DAVID. 

Wild  words  are  these.     I  know  no  more  of  him 
Than  those  report  who  hear  his  discontent. 
He  hath  not  sought  me  ;  nor  should  I  receive, 
Unless  he  came  with  penitence. 

SARAH. 

You  know,  — 

I  '11  not  believe  you  !     Since  he  held  to  me, 
Nor  with  strange  women  would  pollute  my  house, 
You  mean  his  ruin  !     Help  me,  Prophet's  wife  ! 
Although,  perverted  by  his  tongue,  you  take 
Your  rival  home  — 

(RHODA  starts,  and  turns  away  her  face.} 
—  yet  you  are  woman  still, 

And  my  distress  may  somewhat  touch  your  heart. 
Find  out  what  they  have  done  with  him,  give  back, 
And  we  will  go  ! 

(She  weeps.} 


126  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  IV. 

DAVID   (aside}. 

It  is  no  acted  fear: 

Has  he  been  taken  ?     Is  the  answer  come 
To  what  I  prayed,  —  come  swiftly  back  to  me 
With  all  its  helpless  woe  of  consequence, 
To  make  the  wish  a  terror  ? 


RHODA. 

In  my  heart 

I  feel  your  grief,  and  pity,  and  will  help, 
Can  you  but  show  the  way. 


DAVID. 

But  I  declare 

Mine  ignorance  !     I  speak  no  further  word, 
Since  you  believe  not. 

SARAH. 

Nay,  I  will  believe  ! 

His  fear  was  less  of  you  than  Nimrod  Kraft, 
Whose  tongue  —  but  that  might  anger  if  I  spake  : 
I  know  not  what  to  do  ! 

DAVID. 

Why,  go  to  him 

Whom  most  you  fear  !     But,  stay  !  no  evidence 
Of  evil  in  your  frightened  clamor  lies. 
Come  with  me,  and  confess  the  things  you  know. 

[Exit  with  her. 
RHODA  (solus)- 

Already  ?     My  prophetic  heart  declared, 
Then  called  itself  a  liar  !     Not  dare  tell  ? 
Such  cowardice  conceals  a  little  love  ! 
The  winter  sun,  that  for  a  distant  land 
Makes  summer,  cannot  turn  all  warmth  away, 


SCENE  VII.]  THE  PROPHET.  127 

And  slowly  comes  again  :  let  me  not  be 

A  frozen  field,  but  gather  every  beam 

He  may  allow  me  !     Oh  !  I  '11  prove  my  right 

By  life  or  death ;  but  now,  on  this  alone, 

I  dare  not  brood.     That  woman,  wild  with  fear, 

And  charged  with  reason  for  it,  which  alarms 

Because  unspoken  —  something  lurks  behind, 

A  further  outrage  to  be  sanctified, 

A  guilt  thrust  under  David's  innocence  ! 

The  thought  confuses  me  :   I  only  feel 

The  danger  closing  round  us  like  a  mist, 

Cold,  formless,  chilling  to  the  very  bone  ; 

And  he  is  helpless,  save  I  love  him  still. 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I. 

The  street  in  front  of  the  PROPHET'S  house.     PETER  at  the 
gate,  talking  with  two  citizens. 


I 


FIRST   MAN. 

T  'S  floating  loose,  as  one  might  say  :  it  comes 
From  everywhere  and  nowhere. 


SECOND   MAN. 

That 's  the  way 

To  make  things  happen.     Say  they  '11  surely  be, 
And  all  the  causes  of  them  set  to  work. 

FIRST   MAN. 

I  'd  check  ;  you  'd  let  alone  :  which  starts  a  cause, 
Or  hinders  it  ?  There  's  talk  because  there  's  fear. 
What  says  the  Prophet  ? 

PETER. 

Nothing  !     If  I  asked, 

And  ht  should  answer,  something  would  be  said  ; 
But  that  we  neither  do. 

SECOND   MAN. 

Until  he  calls, 

Confessing  danger,  in  your  pockets  sheathe 
Your  restless  hands,  and  whistle  back  your  faith  ! 
Their  name  is  not  yet  Legion. 

[Exit. 


SCENE  I.]  THE  PROPHET.  129 

FIRST   MAN. 

No,  nor  yours 

A  watchman  of  the  Lord  !     There  are  no  signs 
Of  Jonas  yet ;  but  people  think  him  fled, 
And  plotting  mischief  in  the  enemy's  camp. 
The  Twelve  hold  council :  knowing  these  reports, 
Which  make  alarm,  they  have  not  silenced  them ; 
And  thus  suspicion  grows. 

PETER. 

I  see  it  does. 

FIRST  MAN. 

You  keep  close-mouthed  :  I  do  believe  you  're  primed 
With  far  more  knowledge  than  you  let  leak  out. 

PETER. 

I  'm  honest  only :  ignorance  need  not  talk. 

FIRST   MAN. 

As  I  do,  you  would  say  ? 

[Exit, 

PETER. 

He  's  in  a  huff, 

But  can't  help  counting  me  the  wiser  man. 
Why,  shut  your  mouth,  and  shrewdly  move  your  head, 
And  stare  right  hard  at  him  who  speaks  to  you ; 
And,  when  he  says,  "  It  is  so  !  "  answer,  "  H'm, 
Is  it,  indeed  ?  "  —  and  there  's  your  capital 
For  thriving  business  in  the  wholesale  trade 
Of  leading  people.     If  I  'd  half  a  gift 
To  save  from  awkward  usage  of  their  minds, 
I  'd  make  them  think  me  great. 
9 


13°  THE  PROPHET.  [Acr  V. 

RHODA. 
(Coming  from  the  house.) 

What  have  you  heard  ? 
This  is  no  time  for  keeping  back  the  truth. 
There 's  danger  somewhere. 

PETER. 

One  was  sure  of  that, 
The  t'other  not ;  but  all  I  know  is  this,— 
Some  say  the  Gentiles  mean  to  interfere, 
Upset  the  Prophet's  law,  and  him,  the  head, 
Make  chargeable  for  what  the  others  do. 
But  that  they  can't :  we  're  drifting  on  one  raft ; 
And  none  but  fools  would  ever  try  to  take 
The  helmsman  prisoner,  till  they  smashed  the  crew. 

RHODA. 

And  all  are  faithful  ? 

PETER. 

Well  —  they  think  they  are. 

RHODA. 

This  was  my  fear :  you  mean  that  all  are  not  ? 

PETER. 

It  comes  of  management :  the  priest,  and  her  — 
Each  is  alone  a  match  for  any  law ; 
And,  if  they  work  together  — 

RHODA. 

Nay,  they  must  / 

You  are  worse  troubled  than  you  care  to  show ; 
But  I  '11  not  question  more.     One  way  to  help  — 


SCENE  I.]  THE  PROPHET.  131 

The  hardest  way  that  ever  woman  walked  — 
Is  set  before  me,  and  I  take  it  now  ! 

[Exit. 

PETER. 

I  don't  know  as  I  'm  gladder  that  she  went, 
Or  sorrier  that  she  seemed  to  think  my  wits 
Of  small  account.     Here  's  one  that,  as  I  guess, 
She  means  to  pump  as  deeply  as  he  '11  let. 
He  comes  this  way  ;  he  's  got  a  blunted  axe, 
And  I  must  turn  the  grindstone. 

NIMROD  (entering). 

Have  you  seen 
Sarah,  the  wife  of  Jonas,  pass  this  way  ? 

PETER. 
Not  I. 

NIMROD. 

She  still  may  come.     Wait  not  for  me, 
Or  any  officer,  but  hold  her  fast ! 

PETER. 

There  must  be  two  of  me,  to  do  so  much. 

NIMROD. 

Large-boned,  and  strong  of  arm,  she  is,  in  fact. 
You  '11  find  a  watchman  yonder  by  the  wood ; 
But  scatter,  lest  she  take  another  path  ! 

PETER. 
Why,  what 's  the  row  ? 

NIMROD. 

No  more  than  you  have  heard. 
Put  what  you  know,  and  what  you  think  might  be, 


132  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  V. 

Together,  and  you  '11  find  disturbance  comes 
Through  her  alone,  and  she  can  silence  it. 
The  Prophet  and  the  Twelve  have  that  to  ask, 
Which,  having  answered,  she  disarms  herself. 

[Exit. 

PETER. 

No  use  of  pumping  there  !     The  water  comes 
Just  even  with  the  spout,  and  then  it  stops. 


SCENE  II. 

A  room  in  LIVIA'S  house. 

LIVIA. 

(Slowly  pacing  the  floor,  with  a  letter  in  her  hand.} 
Renounced,  and  half  forgotten,  still  the  world 
Has  power  to  hurt !     I  know  the  mirror  false 
Which  makes  a  grim  distortion  of  my  face, 
And  yet  it  pains  me  while  I  look.     What  creed 
Is  theirs,  to  whom  my  love  gives  more  offence, 
Man's  habit  broken,  than  hath  done  my  faith, 
To  them  a  fatal  heresy  of  soul  ! 
Those  Pagans,  to  their  monstrous  idol  bowed,  — 
Once  Moloch  named,  but  now  Society, — 
Defile,  when  turned  to  their  forgotten  Lord, 
His  altars  with  false  fire.     Ah  !  had  I  found 
One  pure  male  soul  among  them,  not  ashamed 
To  seek,  believe,  aspire,  and  overcome,  — 
With  love's  white  heat  to  clarify  my  own, 
And  dear  dependence  on  my  differing  force,  — 
I  had  remained  !     But  thus,  forbade  to  seek, 
Insulted  by  insipid  tenderness, 
That  into  weakness  fain  would  coddle  power, 
That  shuts  men's  brains  lest  ours  should  be  confused, 


SCENE  II.]  THE  PROPHET.  133 

And  hides  strong  aberrations  of  the  sex, 
Which,  knowing,  we  might  guide  to  purity,  — 
Why,  what  was  left  me  but  a  fierce  escape  ? 
Thank  Heaven,  the  line  is  passed  !     I  've  not  to  do 
With  threatened  shame,  or  vain  self-questioning,  more  ; 
I  give  my  being  for  a  large  return. 

(Enter  RHODA  :  both   stand  for  a  moment,  looking  at  each 

other,  in  silence.} 

Forgive  me,  Rhoda,  if  I  show  surprise  ; 
Forgive  me,  also,  that  my  doubt  deterred 
The  due  approach,  which  now  your  coming  here 
So  gently  chides  ! 

RHODA. 

Do  not  mistake  my  heart, 
Or  set  it  lower,  for  the  thing  I  do. 
Save  you  perceive  me  as  I  verily  am, 
I  cannot  speak  my  message,  or  may  mar. 
I  come,  by  sore  necessity  constrained, 
Or  I  had  never  come. 

LIVIA  (aside}. 

Her  words  awake 

A  new  surprise :  is  this  the  fond,  weak  wife 
I  thought  her,  petulant  instead  of  proud, 
And  simply  sulking  over  fancied  loss  ? 

(Aloud.} 

Your  speech  is  bitterer,  surely,  than  you  mean  ; 
But,  seeming  in  the  wrong,  I  must  endure. 

RHODA. 

Be  not  offended  !  I  must  needs  suppose 
Some  curious  resemblance  in  our  hearts, 
Else  —yet  it  must  be  said  !  —  you  had  not  loved. 


134 


THE  PROPHET.  [Acx  V. 


Let  there  be  more,  in  this,  —  that,  loving  him, 
You  know  no  better  service  of  your  life 
Than  guarding  his. 

LIVIA. 

There  read  me  by  yourself  ! 
I  '11  not  explain  my  passion,  since  the  words 
Might  sting  with  needless  pangs.    I  thought  you  weak, 
And  find  you  strong  :  thus,  silence  is  enough. 
You  come  because  of  him ;  forget  the  rest, 
For  partnership  or  rivalry  in  us 
Has  here  one  aim. 

RHODA. 

I  feel  before  I  see, 

And  that  which  shakes  me  with  continual  dread 
Dissolves  when  I  would  closelier  scan  its  form. 
The  missing  man,  his  wife's  most  real  alarm, 
The  Gentile  rumors,  threatening  David's  place, 
If  not  his  freedom,  and  the  ruin  of  all,  — 
These  have  a  link  which  must  be  found  and  cleft. 
Help  me,  therein  :  I  am  not  quick  of  thought, 
But  I  will  follow,  letting  you  direct. 
You  cannot,  surely,  unobservant  be 
Of  each  least  danger,  when  you  watch  for  him  ! 

LIVIA. 

Less  I  may  see,  because  I  fear  it  less 
Than  you  do.     He  must  triumph  as  a  chief, 
Ere  love  can  peacefully  possess  his  life. 
Unhelping  there,  love  in  its  duty  fails, 
And  all  too  anxiously  may  guard  itself  ; 
For  opportunity  wears  danger's  face 
When  first  it  comes  ;  and  now  it  may  be  so. 
What  you  declare,  I  knew  :  I  muse  thereon, 


SCENE  II.]  THE  PROPHET.  135 

To  save,  if  the  occasion  shrinks  to  that ; 
But,  if  it  broaden,  to  exalt  as  well ! 

RHODA. 

And  you  delay  ?  to  gain  I  know  not  what ! 
How  can  you  thus  so  coldly,  proudly  talk 
Of  triumph  won  by  risk  ?     Ah  !  yes,  I  see 
My  heart's  distress  is  folly  unto  yours  : 
I  am  a  woman,  and  you  know  me  not. 
I  show  you  all  I  dread  ;  I  give  you  chance 
To  set  yourself  above  me  in  desert, 
And  on  the  remnant  of  my  bliss  to  feed, 
And  you  —  seek  "  opportunity  "  ! 

{She  turns  to  leave.} 

LIVIA. 

Not  yet,  — 

You  do  mistake  !  and  I  should  only  wound 
By  picking  words  more  nicely  :  all  are  edged 
Which  we  two  use.     Twice  have  you  made  reproach, 
Perhaps  not  meaning  ;  I  will  let  it  pass, 
And  answer,  since  I  pity  your  alarm, 
With  offered  help  :  you  may  accept  or  leave. 
How  much  of  faith  in  Nimrod,  the  high-priest, 
Do  you  preserve  ? 

RHODA. 
{After  a  pause,} 

If  one's  right  hand  could  be 
Unfaithful  to  the  will  ?  for  so  it  seems. 
But  service,  then,  would  measure  treachery  ; 
And  that 's  too  monstrous  ! 

(Aside.} 

Ah  !  what  have  I  said  ? 

Her  words  provoked  the  doubt  I  should  conceal, 
And  this  may  do  a  mischief. 


136  THE  PROPHET.  [Acr  V. 

LIVIA. 

'T  is  enough. 

I  know  the  thought,  that,  frightened,  hides  its  face 
Even  from  itself ;  but  I  will  look  on  mine. 
Tis  well  you  came  to  me  :  some  sheltered  plants 
First  note  the  distant  changes  of  the  air, 
And  here  —  the  thing  is  possible  :   I  thought 
It  might  be  later  —     Ha  !  if  it  be  now, 
I  must  to  work  ! 

RHODA. 

Give  me  a  little  part 
When  you  have  found  it !  so  much  is  my  right. 

LIVIA. 

Ay,  ay  !  I  promise  :  now,  I  pray  you,  go  ! 
For  his  sake,  then  ! 

\_Exit  RHODA. 

Oh  !  she  may  have  her  share  ; 
But  I,  that  dare  and  save  and  win  and  crown, 
Shall  sit  by  him  as  Zion's  rightful  queen  ! 


SCENE  III. 

The   council-room.      NIMROD,    SIMEON,    and    MORDECAI 
present. 

SIMEON. 

I  find  them  more  disturbed  than  timorous  ; 
Still  in  good  heart,  the  most :  but  that  we  keep 
Continued  silence,  while  the  threats  increase, 
Bewilders  them. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  PROPHET.  137 

NIMROD. 

'T  is  time,  indeed,  to  act ; 
For  our  intent  must  be  conveyed  to  all, 
Or  we  shall  fail  in  secret  unity. 
The  Prophet  halts  :  I  've  purposely  left  free 
His  spirit,  praying  for  a  path  revealed 
Where  we,  between  the  waves  on  either  hand, 
Dry-shod  may  walk  :  the  revelation  lags. 
If  unto  me,  less  gifted,  were  transferred 
The  leader's  office,  I  should  exercise 
With  human  wit,  perchance,  but  also  will 
To  wring  success  from  stubborn  circumstance. 

SIMEON. 

Oh  !  were  it  so  transferred  !  Can  you  not  claim, 
If  we  sustain  you  ? 

NIMROD. 

No,  I  will  not  claim  ! 
What  my  devotion  and  obedience  earn 
Should  I  receive. 

(A  knock  is  heard:  MORDECAI  ^.r  to  the  door.    As  he  opem 
it  LlVlA  is  seen.} 

(Aside.} 

But  to  invite  the  trust, 
So  that  the  giver  thinks  he  gives  unasked, 
Is  always  lawful.     What  she  seeks  is  plain : 
I  've  marked  her  keen  ambition,  and  can  use. 

(Aloud.} 
Admit  the  sister. 

(LlVlA  comes  forward  to  the  table.} 

Opportunely  come  ! 

And  hence  the  rules  of  council  we  suspend. 
If  you  have  knowledge,  or  your  woman's  wit 


138  THE  PROPHET.  [Acr  V. 

Works,  with  result,  for  our  deliverance, 

Be  welcome,  speak,  and  we  shall  gladly  hear  ! 


LIVIA. 


My  knowledge  is  not  more,  my  zeal  not  less, 
Than  yours  ;  my  skill  to  work  with  minor  arts 
Which  must  prevail  with  individual  wills, 
Ere,  as  a  body,  all  are  moved  one  way, 
Perchance  as  great :  so  much  is  known  to  you. 
This  is  no  time  for  testing  special  power, 
When  any  weapon,  be  it  wielded  well, 
Becomes  a  rightful  arm.     Our  danger  lies 
In  suffering  our  young  order  to  be  jarred 
Too  suddenly,  or  slowly  undermined 
By  such  defence  as  leaves  the  end  a  doubt. 
Between  the  two  we  need  steer  carefully. 
You  have  the  rudder  ;  give  an  oar  to  me. 

NIMROD. 

You  apprehend  the  crisis,  and  have  guessed 
Why,  measuring  it,  we  have  not  spoken  yet. 
'T  is  purposeless  extremity  of  fear 
Begets  submission  :  what  were  best  to  do, 
Too  soon  declared,  is  lightly  criticised ; 
But,  now  they  cry  for  guidance,  we  present 
Calm  fronts  of  unperturbed  authority. 
We  crave  to  act  :  the  Prophet  only  fails 
In  revelation,  which  may  be  denied, 
If  human  craft  suffice  :  or,  unto  you 
Hath  he  declared  his  will  ? 

LIVIA. 

Not  unto  me, 
Surely,  ungifted  with  commissioned  power. 


SCENE  III.]  THE  PROPHET.  139 

NIMROD. 

Yet  that  pretence  of  law  which  threatens  us 
Concerns  you  most.     Our  body  is  not  yet 
The  giant  it  shall  be  :  the  covenant, 
Now  made  an  accusation,  must  be  kept 
By  secret  truth,  the  evidence  held  back,  — 
So,  nothing  proven,  all  their  charges  fail. 
We  best  oppose  by  seeming  to  submit. 
Unaided,  they  examine  :  not  a  tongue 
Profanes  the  mysteries  of  Zion's  house  ; 
And,  once  so  foiled,  our  skill  and  industry, 
Our  peace  and  order,  only,  noised  abroad, 
They  will  not  haste  to  court  a  second  blame. 

SIMEON. 
The  wisdom  of  the  serpent  speaks  in  that ! 

LIVIA  (aside). 

And  leaves  the  serpent's  slime  ! 
(Aloud.} 

You,  then,  accept 

Their  whole  procedure,  —  law,  and  court,  and  judge, 
And  twelve  such  fools  as  never  heard  of  us, 
Arrest,  and  trial  ?     First,  of  course,  they  seize 
The  Prophet ! 

NIMROD. 

Me,  instead  !     I  will  so  lead 
Suspicion  from  its  present  course  in  them. 
My  craft  of  brain,  that  cannot  reach  his  gift 
Of  prayer  and  vision,  hath  its  office  here  : 
It  will  exalt  my  soul  with  holy  joy 
To  triumph  o'er  the  Gentiles  ! 


J4°  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  V. 

LIVIA. 

Prophecy 

Is  that :  the  power  awakes  in  you  :  I  thought 
Your  gift  was  "craft  of  brain."     Why,  't  is  a  scheme 
Where  every  wheel  must  with  a  hundred  ifs 
Be  cogged,  or  none  of  them  will  bite  !     The  law 
Takes  any  shape  it  likes  :  by  prejudice 
It  moves  the  eleven,  and  wearies  out  the  one 
Within  whose  brain  some  dream  of  justice  lives. 
Yes,  were  our  danger,  law  !     But,  while  you  wait 
Your  own  arrest  in  all  decorous  form, 
Whose  hand  shall  stay  the  ruffian  horde  behind 
From  force  and  outrage  ? 

NIMROD. 

Woman's  brain  is  quick 
To  make  a  part  the  whole,  and  for  her  wits 
Work  easy  triumph.     I  but  told  you  part. 

LIVIA  (aside). 

Too  quick,  indeed  !     I  should  have  cheated  him 
By  feigned  acceptance,  till  I  learned  the  whole. 
He  may  cajole  by  truth,  as  others  do 
By  falsehood. 

(Aloud.) 

Nay,  if  hastily  I  spake, 
The  cause  lay  deeper  than  my  woman's  brain. 

NIMROD    (smiling). 

I  saw  it  beating,  faster  than  your  words. 
I  but  consider,  not  decide  :  the  plan 
Waits  for  the  sanction  of  our  Church's  head, 
Which  he,  in  strange  uncertainty,  withholds. 
If  to  the  movement  of  his  mind  your  own 


SCENE  III.]  THE  PROPHET.  14* 

May  give  direction,  bid  him  not  delay ; 
Or,  still  irresolute,  set  free  my  hands, 
To  work  for  him. 


MORDECAI. 

The  Twelve  are  as  one  man. 

SIMEON. 
The  priest  speaks  for  us. 

NIMROD. 

And  the  people  wait. 

Decide  to  help,  where  all  is  known  and  weighed  ; 
Or,  knowing  little,  work  your  random  will, 
And  bring  us  ruin  ! 

LIVIA, 

You  would  weigh  me  down 
With  much  capacity.     If  you  believed 
My  power,  you  would  not  threaten  such  result, 
But  coax  and  flatter  me  to  shift  my  part. 
Deal  fairly,  priest,  and  you  shall  have  my  aid  ! 
You  're  certain  of  success  :  you  only  need 
Unhindered  leadership  (the  Prophet's  place 
Transferred,  in  seeming,  that  he  'scape  the  risk), 
And  then,  submissive  where  they  look  for  strife, 
You  will  confound  the  Gentiles  !     Far  too  bold 
For  any  brain  but  yours  !     Were  not  your  blood 
So  passionless,  your  keen  intelligence 
So  coldly  watchful,  I  should  doubt  the  end  ; 
But  now —  I  go  to  do  the  work  you  set ! 

MORDECAI. 

That's  a  beginning  ! 


I42  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  V. 

SIMEON. 

How  you  bent  her  will ! 
I  never  saw  the  like. 

NIMROD. 

Ay,  ay  !     The  power 
Sometimes  is  with  me  :  may  it  oftener  come  ! 

(Aside.} 

The  work  I  set  ?     She  '11  do  the  opposite, 
Or  else  her  lying  candor  lies  again. 
"  So  passionless  !  "  —  ha  !  ha  !     The  time  may  come 
When  she  shall  say  of  me,  "  Too  passionate  !  " 
I  think  I  've  striven  to  turn  away  the  storm  ; 
But,  if  they  will  not  see,  so  let  it  burst ! 
They're  all  mistaken  :  'tis  no  thunder-cloud 
That  rattles  half  an  hour,  and  rolls  away  ; 
But  something  that  will  tear  us  from  our  roots, 
And  sweep  us  far  into  the  wilderness. 
My  own  device  might  gain  a  little  grace 
To  dull  the  blow  :  yet  our  prosperity 
Tempts,  as  upon  a  counter  scattered  gold; 
And,  though  the  first  wave  strike  us  harmlessly, 
A  second  one  will  follow.     Better  now 
Set  matters  where  they  needs  must  terminate  ! 
I  've  learned  to  rule,  even  while  obeying  most ; 
And  I  shall  surely  learn  to  bind  and  seal 
By  revelation,  as  my  gifts  increase. 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  PROPHET.  143 


SCENE  IV. 

In  front  of  the  temple.  A  mimber  of  people  collected ;  DAVID, 
NIMROD,  and  "various  members  of  the  TWELVE,  among  them. 
LIVIA  moves  from  one  to  another  of  the  restless,  excited 
groups. 

A   MAN. 

They  should  have  armed  us  first ! 

A  SECOND. 

The  priest  is  shrewd 

To  keep  his  knowledge  till  it 's  time  to  use. 
He  has  something  ready :  mark  his  quick  gray  eye  ! 

A  THIRD. 

The  secrecy  they  lay  upon  us  means 
That  we  may  be  examined  :  more  than  that 
It's  hard  to  guess. 

LIVIA  (whispering). 

Keep  you  the  peace,  unless 
They  would  arrest  the  Prophet,  — then  resist ! 

\She  passes  on. 
A   MESSENGER. 

(To  DAVID.) 

There  are  but  four :  their  head  is  Sheriff  Hyde. 
Our  watchmen  stopped  them  at  the  wood  below, 
And  now  are  leading  hither  :  they  would  speak 
With  you,  and  with  the  Twelve. 

DAVID. 

Go,  bid  them  come  ! 


144  THE  PROPHET.  [Acr  V. 

NIMROD. 

Have  you  considered  our  united  mind  ? 
Here  is  it  urgent  that  a  single  voice 
Declare  the  answer. 

DAVID. 

First  must  come  demand, 

Which,  save  its  words  and  full  intent  were  known, 
We  cannot  meet  beforehand.     I  will  wait. 

NIMROD. 

This  only,  let  me  speak  !     Exact  delay 
For  consultation,  when  demand  is  made  : 
They  are  but  four  ;  yet  each  doth  represent 
A  hundred  more  in  ambush  ! 

DAVID. 

Are  you  sure 
Of  Hugh's  fidelity  ! 

NIMROD. 

As  of  his  life  ! 

And  whether  Jonas  did  escape  to  them, 
Or  by  the  Lord  was  silenced,  —  either  way 
He  served  us  first :  so  far  have  we  been  helped 
To  their  discomfiture  ! 
(Movement  in  the  crowd.     The  people  fall  back,  and  COLO- 

NEL  HYDE,  with  three  companions,  guarded  on  each  side 

by  the  watchmen  of  Zion,  come  forward.} 

COLONEL   HYDE. 

Which  man  of  you 
Calls  himself  Prophet  ? 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  PROPHET.  *45 

DAVID. 

Chosen  of  the  Lord 
Am  I,  and  Prophet  called  by  these,  my  flock. 

COLONEL    HYDE. 

You  're  he  I  seek.     The  law,  that  freedom  gives 

To  manifold  belief,  now  takes  alarm 

At  vicious  usages,  by  you  proclaimed 

As  holy.     You  are  called  to  meet  the  charge 

Of  wilful  crime,  with  others,  whom  to  this 

You  have  persuaded. 

{Murmurs  among  the  people.} 

DAVID. 

And  should  I  resist 
Such  intermeddling  with  permitted  faith  ? 

COLONEL    HYDE. 

Though  loud  report  of  your  licentious  lives 
Commands  my  action,  we  are  armed  with  proof, 
And  here  resistance  would  be  added  crime. 
Will  you  submit  ?  or  shall  I  raise  my  voice, 
And  call  the  County's  power  ? 

(  Tumultuous  movement  among  the  people.} 

VOICES. 

Go  back  !  go  back  ! 
We  guard  the  Prophet  !     Touch  him  if  you  dare  ! 

NIMROD. 

Be  quiet,  brethren  !     Law  should  not  be  rash 
To  hasten  conflicts  which  she  might  allay. 
You,  Colonel  Hyde,  have  spoken ;  we  demand 
A  space  for  counsel  ere  we  make  reply. 
Come  three  days  hence  — 
10 


146  THE  PROPHET.  [Acr  V. 

COLONEL   HYDE. 

One  day,  no  more  ! 

(Struggle  and  confusion  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd ;  min 
gled  voices  and  cries.} 

SARAH. 

Let  go ! 
I  have  done  nothing  !     Let  me  free,  I  say ! 

DAVID. 
Hold,  hold  ! 

COLONEL   HYDE. 

My  cousin's  wife  ! 

SARAH. 

(Rushing forward  wildly,  her  hair  streaming  over  her  shoiil- 
ders.) 

You  have  not  seen 

Jonas  ?     No  need  to  answer  that :  he  's  dead  ! 
Oh,  save  me  !   take  me  with  you  ! 

NIMROD   (aside). 

Cursdd  luck  ! 
I  thought  she  had  escaped,  but  this  is  worse. 

COLONEL   HYDE. 

What  means  your  terror  ? 

SARAH. 

Jonas  never  came 

From  you!    I  thought  him  held,  at  first,  and  made 
Vain  outcries  ;  then  I  feared  for  mine  own  life, 
And  hid  till  now.     Upon  my  way  to  you 
Came  two,  and  held  me  fast  with  violent  hands, 
The  Prophet's  serving-man  — 


SCENE  IV.]  THE  PROPHET.  147 

DAVID. 

It  cannot  be  ! 


Peter  ? 


SARAH. 


—  and  one  the  high-priest  often  calls 
To  do  his  secret  work. 

NIMROD. 
I  ordered  them. 

The  woman's  grief,  the  Prophet's  sympathy 
Therewith,  gave  me  desire  to  question  her. 
If  thus  our  kindness  frightens,  let  her  go, 
And  you  may  test  the  value  of  the  tongue 
That  speaks  such  folly ! 

COLONEL   HYDE. 

Sarah,  come  with  us  ! 
(To  DAVID.) 
To-morrow,  at  this  hour,  expect  me  here  ! 

[Exit  with  SARAH,  his  companions,  and  the  watchmen. 

NIMROD  (aside). 

There  go  the  Gentile  torches,  all  ablaze, 
Which  shall  consume  the  temple  I 

DAVID. 

Peter,  here, 

If  still  you  owe  me  service  ! 

[Exit. 

LIVIA. 

So,  high-priest, 

The  court  is  opened,  and  the  jury  called  ; 
Only  the  culprits  have  not  reached  the  bar ! 


148  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  V, 

NIMROD. 

Some  walls  are  built  with  clear  design  to  stand 

For  ages  ;  but  the  finger  of  a  child 

May  pick  a  stone  out  ere  the  mortar  dries, 

And  leave  a  crevice  for  the  wedge  of  frost 

To  slowly  split  the  fabric.     You  exult 

As  such  a  child  might  do. 

LIVIA  (aside). 

He  frightens  me. 


SCENE  V. 

Sunset.    An  outer  street  of  the  city.     A  number  of  men  as 
sembled :  PETER  in  the  midst. 

SEVERAL   VOICES. 

We  will  not  yield  ! 

A   MAN. 

The  Lord  should  send  a  sign, 
If  ever,  now,  when  to  His  flock  dismayed 
The  wolf  comes  howling  ! 

PETER. 

'T  is  n't  just  the  howl. 
He  means  to  pounce  upon  our  leader-ram, 
Then  lazily  bite  our  throats  from  day  to  day. 
The  priest  says,  "  Let  him  !  "     But  you  run  down  hill 
To  law,  and  up  steep  rocks  climb  out  again. 

VOICES. 

Ay,  that  is  truth  ! 


SCENE  V.]  THE  PROPHET.  149 

PETER. 

And  he,  to  boot,  mistakes 

Through  over-sharpness.     Doing  what  he  bade, 
I  harmed  the  Prophet  in  the  sheriff's  eyes  ; 
And  that  wild  woman  will  improve  the  tale, 
Until  they  see  —  the  Lord  knows  what  —  in  him. 
I  'm  bound  to  make  my  blunder  good. 

LIVIA   (approaching}. 

You  are  ! 

I  '11  show  you  how  :  there  's  little  time  to  lose. 
How  many  here  have  arms  ? 

VOICES. 

I  have  !     And  I  ! 

LIVIA. 

And,  had  you  not  the  hearts  of  fighting  men, 
You  would  not  answer  thus.     They  think  us  weak 
Or  timorous  :  let  them  come  in  that  conceit ! 
One  sharp  repulse  will  so  confuse  their  plan 
That  time  is  gained ;  and  what  protection  lies 
In  martial  garrisons  the  nation  plants, 
For  need,  along  the  lawless,  wild  frontier, 
May  come  to  aid  us,  or  to  stand  between. 

VOICES. 
That 's  to  the  point !     Such  talk  we  understand. 

LIVIA. 

Shall  we  submit  to  scarce  the  name  of  law, 
Much  less  its  substance  ?     Who  are  they  that  shake 
The  sword  of  justice,  which  would  pierce  themselves 
If  they  let  go  the  hilt  ?     What !  suffer  them 
To  seize  at  will,  until  our  strength  is  shorn, 


15°  THE  PROPHET.  [Acx  V. 

And  Zion's  riches  to  their  hands  lie  bare  ? 
Not  you !     I  know  you  ! 

VOICES. 
No,  we  '11  fight  them  first ! 

LI  VI  A. 

You  will !     And,  if  no  man  dares  lead  you  forth, 
I  '11  be  your  captain  :  there  are  Jaels  yet  ! 
Let  each  his  neighbor  summon  ;  scour  your  guns, 
Run  even  your  clock-weights  into  bullet-moulds, 
And  tell  your  wives  that  milk  from  manly  veins 
Looks  worse  than  blood  ! 

(She  beckons  to  one  of  the  men  following  her,  who  comes  for 
ward,  and  unrolls  a  banner,  with  a  golden  lion  on  a  red 
ground. ) 

Behold  our  banner  spread, 

Yours  and  the  Prophet's  !     See  that  first  it  float 
Amid  the  smoke,  which,  when  it  drifts  away, 
Leaves  victory  behind  !     You  want  a  song, 
To  set  the  courage  of  your  hearts  in  words, 
And  bid  it  ring  beneath  the  echoing  heaven. 
Hear,  then  !     I  've  made  it  for  you,  and  will  sing  ! 

(She  sings.} 

Children  of  Zion, 
Crouch  as  a  lion, 
Eager  to  fly  on 

Foes  that  deride  ! 
Rise  for  the  Prophet ! 
Arm  for  the  Prophet  ! 
Fight  for  the  Prophet ! 

Fling  his  banner  wide  ! 


SCENE  V.]  THE  PROPHET.  151 

ALL. 

(Enthusiastically  repeating  the  last  lines,  as  chorus.} 

Fight  for  the  Prophet ! 
Fling  his  banner  wide  ! 

( The  men  gradually  disperse.} 

LI VI A  (solus). 

I  live  at  last !     'T  was  more  than  love  inspired 
This  counter-plot,  though  love  like  mine  were  more 
Than  cause  and  needful  spur.     I  live  and  move, 
Bid  others  live  and  play  the  parts  I  set, 
Concentrate  petty  forces  to  one  end 
Which  grandly  must  succeed,  or  grandly  fail,  — 
But,  either  way,  I  act  !     The  top  of  life, 
Methinks,  is  action,  when  the  field  is  broad  ; 
For  power  of  nature  cannot  truly  be, 
Till  it  is  proved  on  others. 

Ah,  he  comes  ! 

My  dream  was  that  I  work  for  him  alone  : 
Why,  since  both  power  and  passion  wed,  I  do  ! 

(DAVID  approaches.} 

Lift  up  your  front,  my  Prophet !     'T  is  the  eve 
Of  strength  secured  :  the  test,  the  hostile  charge, 
Draw  near  the  moment  when  they  sink  in  dust ; 
And,  after  one  dim  bar  of  cloud,  your  sun 
Will  hold  the  sky  ! 

DAVID. 

'Tis  dusk:  the  sun  is  down. 
Old  habit  says  the  day  will  dawn  again 
After  a  certain  darkness  :  have  you  thought, 
What  if  it  should  not  dawn  ?     'T  is  possible. 


152  THE  PROPHET.  [Acr  V. 

LIVIA. 

Yes,  when  no  triumph  calls  the  daylight  up; 
When  human  souls,  in  all  God's  world,  are  dumb  ; 
When  hope  is  choked,  and,  like  neglected  fire, 
The  spark  of  prayer  dies  out,  and  even  love 
Awaits  no  morrow  sweeter  than  to-day,  — 
Then,  then,  'twere  possible  ! 

DAVID. 

Can  light  be  drawn 

Even  from  the  spirit,  as  the  warmth  from  blood? 
You  seem  to  shine,  as  you  possessed  the  glow 
I  thought  was  mine  :  you  see  where  I  am  dark  ; 
And,  where  I  walk  confounded,  you  rejoice. 
Whence  comes  your  confidence  ?     What  near  success 
Fore-glorifies  you  ? 

LIVIA. 

Pardon,  if  to  you 

I  still  keep  silent  !     Faith,  no  less  than  love, 
May  have  its  budded  secret,  soon  to  bloom. 
For  some  few  rapid  hours  endure  your  place, 
As  now,  while  others  work,  —  I  least,  perhaps, 
Though  most  in  will :  the  lower  necessity 
Is  ours  to  meet,  yea,  ours  to  overcome. 

DAVID. 
They  wait  my  word. 

LIVIA. 

I  know  it.     They  best  learn 

Now,  when  their  minds  are  sore  perturbed,  to  wait. 
Can  you  bestow  on  clouded  eyes  and  brains 
Your  perfect  gift  ?  or  justify  each  step, 
Greater  than  Moses,  to  the  murmuring  throng  ? 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  PROPHET.  153 

The  human  with  the  godlike  essence  strives 
In  you  ;  and,  when  your  soul  would  sanction,  straight 
The  heart  stands  up  in  protest :  heed  it  not, 
While  others  can  be  merely  man  ! 

DAVID. 

Go,  then ! 

i  cannot  meet  your  words,  and  will  not  ask 
What  hope  sheds  brightness  on  your  face.     Farewell ! 


LIVIA. 
Farewell ! 

[Exit  DAVID. 

And  for  the  last  time,  half-apart 
And  half-acknowledged,  do  I  say,  Farewell ! 


SCENE   VI. 

Night.  A  room  in  the  PROPHET'S  house.  DAVID,  seated  at  a 
desk,  with  his  back  towards  RHODA.  He  opens  papers, 
looks  at  them  mechanically,  lays  them  aside,  and  at  last  rests 
his  head  upon  his  hand.  RHODA  sits  in  another  part  of  the 
room,  with  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap.  Once  or  twice  she 
lifts  her  head,  looks  at  DAVID,  and  seems  about  to  speak. 

DAVID. 

( Turning  suddenly. ) 
You  're  watching  me  ! 

RHODA. 

Nay,  waiting  ;  and,  besides, 
Wishing  that  you  would  speak.     To-day's  affairs 
Leave  me  in  doubt  of  what  the  morrow  brings. 
There  's  something  in  a  charge  that  frightens  me, 


154  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  V. 

Though  vilely  made  :  I  never  dreamed  that  crime, 
Even  as  a  painted  threat,  could  be  so  flung 
Into  our  faces. 


DAVID. 

Into  mine,  not  yours  ! 

RHODA. 

It  is  the  same  :  the  threat,  the  impossible  fact, 
One  like  the  other,  at  my  honor  strikes. 
I  do  not  think  of  that.     Oh,  were  the  day, 
And  all  its  horrible  aspects,  safely  o'er  ! 
Were  you  a  nameless  servant  of  the  Lord, 
Somewhere  with  me  and  with  our  helpless  child, 
A  taper  burning  calmly,  not,  as  now, 
A  bonfire  whirled  and  beaten  by  the  winds, 
What  peace  were  mine  ! 

VOICES. 

{Outside ',  singing  in  passing.} 
Fight  for  the  Prophet  ! 
Fling  his  banner  wide  ! 

RHODA. 

But,  no  !  you  dare  not  fly 

Though  yet  the  chance  is  free.     The  frightened  flock, 
In  its  devoted  faith,  appeals  to  you, 
Who,  having  led  to  this,  must  lead  beyond. 
An  hour 's  enough  :  the  river's  middle  stops 
Pursuit  and  summons  ;  but,  were  you  and  I 
This  moment  seated  on  the  farther  shore, 
We  needs  must  cross  again. 

DAVID. 

Do  you  say  that  ? 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  PROPHET. 

Do  you  set  duty  higher  than  our  lives  ? 
Why,  she  could  say  no  more  ! 


RHODA. 

(In  a  low  voice.} 

Ah,  spare  me,  David  ! 
(A  long  silence.} 

DAVID    (musingly}. 

Were  we  together,  Rhoda  ?  yes,  we  were  ! 
One  day  in  June  ;  long,  long  ago  it  was  : 
Wild  strawberries  along  the  clearing's  edge 
Were  thick  that  year  ;  but  we  grew  tired  at  last ; 
And  I,  stretched  flat  among  the  fragrant  vines, 
Looked  at  the  sky :  I  saw  no  other  thing. 
The  blue  retreated  as  my  vision  reached  ; 
And  as  a  pebble  slowly  deeper,  deeper  sinks 
In  still,  dark  water,  up  and  upward  sank 
My  soul,  and  sank,  and  still  there  was  no  end. 
Somewhere,  at  last,  beyond  the  invisible  stars, 
A  hoary  brightness  gathered  from  the  void, 
And  from  the  midst  there  looked  a  single  Eye, 
Compact  of  all  ineffable  light,  —  His  eye  ! 
And  did  not  blind  me. 

RHODA. 

David  !  and  I  cried  : 

You  would  not  speak  :  I  thought  you  vexed,  unkind  ! 
I  could  not  know,  till  now. 

DAVID. 

We  came  from  school 
One  day,  when,  from  a  rising  arch  of  cloud, 
The  tempest  strained  the  black-oak  on  the  hill. 
You  feared  to  pass  :  I  shouted,  through  the  roar, 


TS6  THE  PROPHET,  [ACT  V. 

"  You  will  not  hurt  us,  God  !  "  and  then  a  bolt 
Split  with  red  fire  the  surging  firmament. 
But  you  were  pale  with  terror ;  on  my  breast 
You  hid  your  eyes  ;  while  I,  in  solemn  joy, 
Chanted  aloud,  and  waved  my  arms  aloft, 
And  felt  strange  fingers  pluck  my  beaten  hair, 
As  one  may  tease  in  fondness.     Say,  do  you 
Remember,  Rhoda  ? 

RHODA  (weeping). 
Oh,  I  do  ! 

DAVID. 

How  now, 

You  cry  for  memory  of  it  ?     Ah  !  I  see, 
Your  memory  wears  another  hue  than  mine. 
You  tremble  :  I  exult  ! 

RHODA. 

Upon  us  sweeps 
A  blacker  tempest  now. 

DAVID. 

Go  you  to  rest ; 

If  struggle  come,  so  gather  strength  for  it. 
Fret  not  for  me  :  my  body  must  be  as  dead 
Before  my  soul  is  verily  alive. 

[Exit  RHODA,  slowly.    A  pause. 
They  look  to  me  :  if  I,  in  turn,  look  up, 
What  help  is  certain  ?     Yea,  but  first  to  look  ! 
I  urge  my  thought ;  but,  swerving  from  its  aim, 
It  backward  speeds,  and  paints  anew  the  past 
In  colors  which  confound  me.     'T  is  not  doubt ; 
'T  is  no  renewal  of  old  agonies  : 
But  something  cold,  that  wears  the  shape  of  Truth, 


SCENE  VI.]  THE  PROPHET.  15? 

Treads  down  with  heavy  step,  along  my  path, 
The  springing  harvest,  and  with  fateful  hand 
Makes  sign,  "  Go  on  :   I  follow  !  " 

Get  you  gone, 

Device  of  Satan  !     Is  His  law  a  lie  ? 
He  made  the  covenant  a  perfect  chain, 
Which,  link  by  link,  am  I  restoring,  soon 
To  gird  us  round  about,  —  a  lesser  world 
Where-  He  may  reign  :  one  flaw,  and  all  must  go  ! 
One  flaw  ?     There  is  no  torture  known  in  hell 
Enough  for  such  malevolence,  if  so  ! 
I  '11  put  Thee  to  the  test :  our  strait  is  sore  ; 
Thine  intervention,  since  the  world  began, 
Never  so  needed  :  —  do  Thy  miracle  ! 
Or  stand  aloof,  and  let  Thy  thunders  growl 
In  leash,  Thy  lightnings  flash  a  distant  threat ; 
But  breathe  one  word  of  counsel,  — give  my  soul, 
Passive  before  Thee,  one  victorious  thought ! 

(He paces  the  room  for  some  minutes  in  great  excitement,  then 
suddenly  stops.} 

My  prayers  rebound,  as  from  a  solid  wall ; 

My  brain  refuses  to  anticipate 

The  coming  problem  ;  and  my  very  hope 

Strains,  like  an  eye  in  darkness,  foiled  of  use  ! 

What  palsy  thus  disorders  every  sense 

Wherein  the  spirit  lives  ?     I  cannot  see 

A  hand's-breadth  forward,  nay,  nor  fancy  aught : 

The  light  burns  backward  over  what  has  been  ; 

And  its  last  glimmer,  fading  at  my  feet, 

Leaves  all  the  future  darkness  ! 

Oh,  my  God  ! 
The  mortal  anguish  of  a  life  at  bay, 


158  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  V. 

Escape  cut  off,  the  certainty  of  doom, 
All  that  is  visited  upon  the  flesh,  — 
Methinks  were  easy.     Mine  is  death  in  life ; 
The  sinews  severed,  and  the  strength  as  dead ; 
No  power  to  reach,  not  even  knowledge  left 
Of  how  or  whither,  but  the  soul  a  corpse  ! 
I  '11  strive  no  more :  I  '11  neither  think  nor  pray : 
Let  accident  become  my  deity  ! 


SCENE  VII. 

The  interior  of  the  temple.  Men,  women,  and  children  gath 
ered  in  groups.  NIMROD,  on  the  platform  in  front  of  the 
Holy  of  Holies,  trims  the  lights  burning  in  the  seven- 
branched  candlesticks.  SIMEON  and  MORDECAI,  near  the 
door,  conferring  with  two  messengers. 

FIRST  MESSENGER. 

I  counted  them  as  they  came  o'er  the  rise, 
And  nigh  two  hundred  were  they. 

SIMEON. 

Did  you  mark 

Some  in  advance  ?  —  signs  of  a  summons  first, 
Preceding  force  ? 

FIRST   MESSENGER. 

Their  march  was  orderly. 

SIMEON. 

(To  MORDECAI.) 

Then  it  would  seem  he  has  them  well  in  hand ; 
And,  whether  violence  be  done,  depends 
Chiefly  on  him.     But  who  went  forth  from  us  ? 


SCENE  VII]  THE  PROPHET,  *59 

SECOND   MESSENGER. 

This  side  the  border  brook,  I  saw  go  out 
Three  Members  of  the  Twelve  :  John  surely  was 
The  first,  Elisha  and  Zerubbabel 
I  thought  the  others. 

MORDECAI. 

(To  SIMEON.) 
By  the  Prophet  sent  ? 

SIMEON. 

By  him  allowed  ;  for  neither  Yea  nor  Nay 
He  answered  them  or  me.     His  gifts  grow  weak 
When  most  we  need  them  ;  but  the  day  may  cast 
The  power  in  stronger  hands,  and  save  us  all  ! 

( Sound  of  drums  and  trumpets  outside.    Voices  singing. ) 

Fight  for  the  Prophet ! 
Fling  his  banner  wide  ! 

SIMEON. 

Hark,  there  !     Who  leads  them  ?     Follow,  —  bring  re 
port  ! 

\Exit  Messengers. 

NIMROD. 

( Coming  down  from  the  altar.} 
My  hands  are  tied  :  all  ye  who  hear  me,  note  ! 
Bear  witness,  that,  if  blood  be  shed  this  day, 
My  garments  are  not  stained.     I  would  have  given 
Myself  as  pledge,  so  using  human  craft 
(Which,  for  His  glory,  sanctifies  the  Lord) 
To  foil  the  Gentiles  ;  now  it  seems  too  late  ; 
But,  when  all  other  virtue  is  outworn, 

Then  turn  to  me. 

.  WOMEN. 

Go  forth,  and  hold  them  back  ! 


160  THE  PROPHET.  [Acr  V. 

NIMROD. 

Though  driven  to  ruin's  edge,  I  still  obey  : 
Heed  ye  the  lesson  ! 

(Enter  DAVID,  pale  and  troubled :  RHODA  follows  him,  tear 
ing  the  child  in  her  arms.} 

DAVID. 
( Looking  on  the  frightened  groups. } 

Save  all  these,  high-priest  ! 

I  give  them  to  your  hands  :  take  boat,  and  cross 
Beyond  the  reach  of  this  authority 
Which  smites  them  with  disorderly  alarm. 
'T  will  soon  be  settled  whether  you  return, 
Or  we  must  join  you. 

NIMROD. 

Suffer  me  to  wait, 

While  aught  of  peril  menaces  yourself  ! 
(Sounds  of  firing  in  the  distance:  cries  and  confusion  among 

the  people. ) 

A   MAN. 
(Rushing  in.} 

They  're  firing,  by  the  wood  !     Theirs,  on  the  plain ; 
Ours,  covered  by  the  timber  :  some  were  down 
Before  the  smoke  got  thick  ! 

DAVID. 

(To   MORDECAI.) 

It  must  not  be  ! 

Quick  !  —  something  white  !    Within  the  chancel,  there, 
My  prophet-mantle,  as  the  sign  of  truce  ! 

( While  MORDECAI   obevs  this  command,  the  sound  of  firing 
draws  nearer.} 


SCENE  VII.]  THE  PROPHET.  161 

PETER. 

(Enters,  wounded  in  the  arm.} 
First,  give  me  water  ! 

(It  is  brought  from  the  baptismal  font.     He  drinks. ) 

Scarce  there  's  time  to  tell : 
Get  over  the  river  !  —  that  was  what  she  said. 

DAVID. 
Who  brought  this  on  ? 

PETER. 

They  wanted  you,  —  no  less 
Would  answer  :  we  refused  to  give  you  up, 
And  blocked  their  marching  nearer ;  then  —  they  fired  ! 
Our  volleys  tore  and  scattered  them  a  bit, 
But  they  're  too  many.     She  went  here  and  there, 
Put  heart  in  all,  and  like  a  general  led, 
And  not  a  bullet  touched  her  :  then,  when  I 
Was  hit  in  turn,  she  sent  me  posting  here. 
We  're  falling  back,  but  slowly,  facing  them  : 
Don't  lose  a  minute  —  ugh  !  the  thing's  no  fun  : 
My  arm  feels  ugly. 

(He  faints.} 
DAVID. 

Rhoda,  look  to  him  ! 
My  place  is  at  the  front :  't  is  me  alone 
They  seek,  and  they  may  have  me  ! 

[Exit. 

RHODA. 

(Giving  her  child  to  one  of  the  women.} 

Lift  his  head, 

Undo  his  collar  !     There  !  I  've  bound  his  arm, 
II 


1 62  THE  PROPHET.  [Acr  V. 

And  bathed  his  brow  with  water  from  the  font : 
He  soon  will  breathe  again.     I  pray  you,  give 
My  child  your  tenderness,  if  I  should  die  ! 

{Exit,  following  DAVID. 

NIMROD. 

You  heard  ?     He  gave  you  to  my  hands  :  I  charge, 
By  him  commissioned,  that  your  fears  be  still ! 
If  there  be  traitors  here,  let  flame  from  Heaven 
Their  tongues  make  cinder,  that  they  cannot  speak  ! 
We  will  submit,  in  all  external  forms, 
Even  to  the  Gentiles  ;  then  in  secret  pass 
The  river,  bearing  our  most  precious  goods 
Beyond  their  reach  :  our  spies  have  gone  abroad, 
And  found  another  Eshcol  in  the  West. 
Within  our  hands  lies  all  we  builded  here, 
And  they,  upheld  by  faith,  shall  build  again  ! 
This  is  no  time  for  lamentation  :  hope 
As  ye  have  never  hoped,  have  confidence 
Ye  never  felt,  await  triumphant  signs 
Reserved  for  you,  His  people  ! 

VOICES. 

Yea,  we  will ! 

(Scattered  musket-shots  outside  the  temple :  wild,  piercing 
cries  are  heard.  Immediately  afterwards  the  chancel-door 
is  torn  open,  and  a  number  of  armed  men,  some  of  them 
wounded,  enter  the  temple.  Then  DAVID  appears,  shot 
through  the  breast,  and  held  up  by  RHODA  and  LIVIA, 
supporting  him  on  either  side.  Cries  and  lamentations 
among  the  people  gathered  in  the  temple?) 

DAVID. 

Forward  !  to  the  altar,  to  the  altar  ! 


SCENE  VII.]  THE  PROPHET.  163 

CRIES. 

Lord! 
Save  him,  Thy  Prophet,  for  Thyself  and  us  ! 

(DAVID,  supported  by  RHODA  and  LIVIA,  totters  forwards, 
and  is  upheld  by  them,  leaning  against  the  altar.} 

DAVID. 

Oh  for  a  little  life  !  it  fades  so  fast ! 
Hear  me,  my  brethren  !  I  will  only  speak 
Words  needful :  not  too  late,  the  shadow  falls 
That  veiled  mine  eyes  :  confusion  has  an  end. 

NIMROD. 

(Aside.} 
What  means  he  ? 

(Aloud,  to  the  people.} 

Silence,  all !     The  Prophet  speaks, 
In  this  extremity,  to  you  ! 

DAVID. 

(With  difficulty.} 

Be  still  ! 

Each  word  you  utter  steals  a  word  of  mine, 
And  few  are  left  me  :  let  me  but  begin  ! 
I  see  so  much  at  once  !  all  things  are  clear ; 
But    speech    grows    weak.      Ah,    hearken,    brethren 

mine  ! 

How  say  it  all  ?    I  pray  you,  bid  your  souls 
Rise  quickly  up,  and  save  me  half  !     O  God, 
It  is  for  Thee  !  —  leave  me  one  moment  here  ! 
See,  I  am  dying  !     On  the  edge  of  life, 
Truth's  lightning  flashes  backward  and  beyond  : 
So  hear  !     First  —    Hold  me  firm,  I  slide  away  ! 
Lord,  Lord,  be  merciful !  no  time  is  left ! 


164  THE  PROPHET.  [ACT  V. 

I  see  no  more  —  but,  yes  !  one  blessed  face  : 
'T  is   yours  !  —  you  're    with    me,    Rhoda  !  — you,   my 
love  ! 

{He  turns  towards  RHODA  as  he  speaks,  and  falls  upon  her 
breast,  with  his  arms  hanging  over  her  shoulders.} 

LIVIA. 

Help  !    Lift  him  up  !  he  faints. 

RHODA. 

Nay,  he  is  dead  ! 

Leave  us  !     You  have  no  more  a  part  in  him : 
He  is  all  mine  at  last ! 

( Clasping  DAVID  to  her  breast,  she  sinks  slowly  down  at  tht 
foot  of  the  altar.} 

NIMROD. 

So  death  cuts  short 

The  weakness  which  had  nigh  betrayed  us  all ! 
His  gift  and  power  become  our  heritage ; 
And  Zion  lives,  and  shall  be  strong,  through  me  ! 

(COLONEL  HYDE  and  his  men  force  an  entrance  into  the  por 
tal  of  the  temple.  A  wild  scene  of  confusion  among  the  peo 
ple.  NIMROD  KRAFT  snatches  the  ark  from  the  altar,  and 
escapes  through  the  chancel-door.} 

THE   CURTAIN  FALLS. 


THE   MASQUE   OF    THE    GODS. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 


A  VOICE  FROM  SPACE.  PERUN. 

CHORUS  OF  SPIRITS.  MANITO. 

ELOHIM.  MAN' 


IMMANUEL.  HE  SEA. 

TovE  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

APOLLO.  THE  RIVERS" 

BRAHMA.  THE  TREES' 

ORMUZD.  THE  SERPENTS. 

AHRIMAN.  THE   WOLVES. 

ODIN.  THE  CAVERNS" 

BAAL. 


THE    MASQUE   OF   THE    GODS. 


SCENE    I. 

The  high  table-land  of  Pamere.  Midnight.  The  distant  snow- 
peaks  of  the  Himalayas,  the  Hindoo-Koosh,  and  the  Kiien- 
Liin  shining  in  the  moonlight.  At  first,  silence  ;  then,  slowly 
and  indistinctly, 

THE   ROCKS. 

WE   scarcely  change,  though  wind   and   rain  and 
thunder 

Blow,  beat,  and  fall,  for  many  a  thousand  years  ; 
And  yet  we  miss  the  dread,  the  ignorant  wonder, 

The  dark,  stern  being,  born  of  human  fears. 

The  stains  of  blood,  upon  our  bases  sprinkled, 

Are  washed  away  ;  the  fires  no  longer  flame  : 

The  stars  behold  our  foreheads  still  unwrinkled  ; 

We  were,  and  are,  but  Man  is  not  the  same. 

THE   CAVERNS. 

With  murmurs,  vibrations, 
With  rustlings  and  whispers, 
And  voices  of  darkness, 
We  breathe  as  of  old. 
Through  the  roots  of  the  mountains, 
Under  beds  of  the  rivers, 


1 68  THE  MASQUE  OF  THE   GODS.   [SCENE  I. 

We  wander  and  deepen 
In  silence  and  cold. 


But  the  language  of  terror, 
Foreboding,  or  promise, 
The  mystical  secrets 

That  made  us  sublime, 
Have  died  in  our  keeping  : 
Our  speech  is  confusion  : 
We  mark  but  the  empty 

Rotations  of  Time. 

THE   SERPENTS. 

We  glided  once  with  crowned  and  lifted  head, 
Our  supple  grace  a  wonder  to  the  wise, 

Power  in  our  starry  eyes, 
And  sacred  mystery  o'er  our  being  shed, 
But  grace  and  power  and  mystery  are  fled. 

Our  smooth,  cold  undulations  gave  the  sign 
Of  fate  to  nations  ;  fanes  for  us  were  built, 

And  blood  of  victims  spilt, 
To  win  a  favoring  answer  at  our  shrine  : 
Silent  were  we,  and  thence,  of  right,  divine  ! 

Are  we  aught  else  ?     Yet  now  we  crawl  instead, 
Crownless,  and  shorn  of  power  we  did  not  crave, 

But  they  unbidden  gave  : 

Held  once  as  gods,  we  shrink  to  shapes  of  dread, 
And  writhe  abased,  with  bruised  and  trampled  head  ! 

THE   WOLVES. 

Prowling  on  the  highlands 

In  the  ghastly  dawn, 
We  scent  the  steam  of  slaughter, 

Ere  the  sword  is  drawn  : 


SCENE  I.]    THE  MASQUE  OF  THE  GODS.  169 

Sated  with  the  corpses, 

'Neath  the  moon,  at  last, 
We  sleep,  and  let  the  vulture 

Finish  his  repast. 

Where  delay  the  wizards, 

Who  were  wont  to  claim 
Fur  and  fang  and  fleetness, 

And  the  fearful  name  ? 
Heart  of  man  within  us, 

Hate  of  man  to  speed, 
More  than  ours  the  terror, 

Terribler  the  deed ! 

ODIN. 

Be  silent !     Ye  are  not  sons  of  Fenrir's  race, 
The  huge,  the  fierce  of  fang  !     What  will  ye  here, 
Where  even  Gods  grow  dim,  and  scarce  behold 
Themselves,  or  hear  the  echo  of  their  speech  ? 
Methinks  I  slept,  but  for  how  long  a  time 
I  know  not :  dreams,  or  memories  of  a  home, 
Surround  me  still,  and  something  cold,  remote, 
Some  rude  resemblance  of  the  world  I  swayed, 
Revives  my  waning  power.     Once  more  I  speak, 
And  marvel  at  the  accents,  sealed  so  long. 
But  who  art  thou,  the  dark  of  aspect,  here 
Confronting  me,  no  less  a  shade,  but  more, 
Though  lost  capacity  for  wrath  would  fain 
Assert  itself,  and  shape  thine  ancient  threat  ? 
I  fear  thee  not. 

PERUN. 

Yet  was  I  feared  erewhile. 
Older  than  thou,  and  mightier,  I  but  gave 
My  footstool,  not  my  throne,  when  came  thy  reign. 


170  THE  MASQUE  OF  THE   GODS.    [SCENE  I. 

I  held  my  sceptre  still ;  and  on  black  stones, 
The  natural  altars  tumbled  from  the  cliffs, 
Frost-carved  and  thunder-polished,  took  the  blood 
Of  secret  worship,  heard  the  fierce  appeals 
That  half  implored  my  favor,  half  defied. 
I  ruled  by  right  of  eldest  cruelty  : 
The  savage  strength  of  man  renewed  my  life, 
And  still  renews,  though  all  my  frame  is  lean 
And  racked  with  hunger,  —  but  I  am  not  dead. 

BAAL. 

Nor  I,  whose  temples  mimicked  once  the  hills. 

For  those  strong  lusts  of  men  I  kept  alive, 

They  gave  me  splendor  and  a  mighty  name. 

None  older  is  than  I.     When  Man  came  forth, 

The  final  effort,  wrung  from  monstrous  forms, 

And  Earth's  outwearied  forces  could  no  more, 

I  warmed  the  ignorant  bantling  on  my  breast. 

We  rose  together,  and  my  kingdom  spread 

From  these  cold  hills  to  hamlets  in  the  palms, 

That  grew  to  Memphis  and  to  Babylon; 

While  I,  on  towers  and  hanging  terraces, 

In  shaft  and  obelisk,  beheld  my  sign 

Creative,  shape  of  first  imperious  law. 

Thou,  Odin,  lord  of  strength,  and  thou,  Perun, 

Of  fear  and  fierceness,  never  touched  the  springs 

Of  life,  your  faint  existence  there  to  feed. 

It  must  be  you  shall  pass  :  your  forms  are  thin 

As  incense-smoke  :  what  made  you  shall  unmake. 

But  I  beget,  not  slay,  — grant  overplus, 

Where  you  are  niggard,  —  drink  from  hidden  founts, 

That  flow  through  channels  of  the  riotous  blood, 

And  keep  men  at  the  level  of  their  source. 

I  may  be  weakened,  but  I  cannot  die. 


SCENE  I.]    THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS.  17 1 

MANITO. 

If  I  be  old,  I  know  not :  ye  are  strange, 

Yet  kindred,  —  long  conjectured,  here  beheld. 

I  have  some  fitful  power,  which  now  is  dread, 

Now  merciful,  and,  as  I  think,  is  good. 

The  smokes  I  breathed  are  shrunk  and  almost  spent ; 

The  shouted  hymns  but  faintly  stir  mine  ears  ; 

The  blood  of  dog,  and  bear,  and  buffalo, 

Gives  me  but  scanty  life  ;  and  through  the  lands 

I  governed,  seated  in  my  hunting-grounds 

Above  the  sky,  my  messenger  the  swan, 

My  slaves  the  beaver  and  the  crafty  fox, 

The  voices  which  address  me  slowly  fail. 

But  ye,  of  other  worlds,  declare  me  this, 

Am  I  myself,  or  am  I  made  of  them  ? 

If,  as  I  fear,  their  simple  souls  had  need 

Of  One  supreme,  and  therefore  I  became  ; 

Or  if,  alone  before  them,  I  have  drawn 

Through  ages  of  unchanged  companionship  — 

Since  lonely  Gods  must  stoop  to  play  with  men  — 

Their  color  to  my  face,  their  joys  to  mine, 

And  to  their  prayers  the  expected  answer  given, 

Declare  me  this  ! 

ODIN. 

Who  shall  declare  the  thing  ? 
Dost  thou,  the  lowest  of  us  all,  provoke 
The  chill  that  made  me  shudder  on  my  throne 
In  Asgaard,  when  the  gold-haired  Freya  wept, 
And  the  sweet  light  of  Balder's  eyes  grew  dim  ? 
Are  we,  then,  born  of  those  who  kneel  to  us  ? 
Shall  we  the  doubter  slay,  who  doubt  ourselves  ? 
Or  cease  to  be,  who  grant  the  sacred  gift 
Of  the  immortal  banquet  ?     I  am  faint 
With  more  than  craving  for  forgotten  rites, 


172  THE  MASQUE  OF  THE   GODS.   [SCENE  I. 

And  even  might  perish,  did  not  something  burn 
In  mine  impoverished  being  from  above, 
As  if  Man's  shadow  met  a  light  in  me, 
Coming,  I  know  not  whence  :  but  it  is  good. 

BAAL. 

Dost  thou  confess  it,  Odin  ?    That  we  live, 

Outliving  name  and  prayer  and  sacrifice, 

Save  such  as  in  the  heart  and  limbs  of  Man 

Unconsciously  is  rendered,  tests  the  truth 

Of  ancient  godship,  yet  dependent  still 

On  something  strange,  and  mightier  than  ourselves. 

Were  we  but  servants,  then,  instead  of  lords  ? 

Did  blood  and  odor,  sound  of  harp  and  horn, 

And  choral  cries  from  multitudes  of  men, 

But  pass  our  palates  and  our  ears,  to  reach 

The  senses  of  some  sole  Divinity, 

Whom  we  thus  flattered  ?     When  I  looked  below 

Upon  my  soaring  fane  in  Babylon, 

Who  was  't  looked  down  on  me  ?     Who  shook  my  soul, 

But.not  with  fear,  or  hate,  or  jealousy,  — 

Since  each  were  vain,  —  but  something  fine  and  pure, 

That  made  me  stagger,  as  my  feet  were  clay  ? 

PERUN. 
Why,  then,  if  such  there  be,  I  know  Him  not. 

ODIN. 

Peace,  ignorant  savage  !     To  thy  Lord  and  mine 
Dream  no  rebellion  !     By  His  leave  we  are, 
No  less  than  Man's  necessity.     But  what 
He  is,  where  throned,  and  how  upheld  in  power, 
I  fain  would  know. 


SCENE  I.]      THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS. 

A   VOICE   FROM   SPACE. 

Lo  !  I  am 

(A  paitse.} 

THE   GODS. 

We  cannot  understand  Thee,  yet  we  bow, 

And,  without  knowledge,  own  Thee  :  are  we  Thine, 

Or  shall  we  cease  when  men  no  more  believe  ? 

A  VOICE   FROM   SPACE. 

Mine  are  ye  :  also  Man's. 

THE   GODS. 

We  feel,  and  must 

Acknowledge  Thee.     Our  questioning  is  vain 
And  self-betraying,  since  to  question  is 
No  office  of  the  Gods.     We  yield  to  Thee, 
Who  knowest,  but  who  wilt  not  answer  us. 

MAN. 

We  burned  their  temples,  overturned  their  altars  ; 
Through  force  or  love  we  learned  the  newer  worship, 
And  taught  our  children  other  than  our  fathers. 
We  gave  them  fear,  we  gave  them  war  and  slaughter, 
We  died  to  keep  them  in  their  sacred  houses, 
We  lived  to  crown  them  rulers  of  the  nations. 
But  they  forget,  they  perish  or  desert  us, 
Too  weak,  without  us,  to  become  immortal. 
They  change  like  us,  yet  claim  to  sit  above  us, 
Our  likenesses,  of  grander  limb  and  feature, 
Of  stronger  hate  and  lust,  and  gentler  pity. 
We  dream  of  higher,  yet  we  cannot  reach  them; 
We  grope  for  something  which  our  hands  can  cling  to, 
Our  eyes  behold,  our  minds  accept  and  fathom  ; 
And,  groping,  seizing,  holding,  lo  !  they  fail  us 
As  they  were  not  —  yet  must  we  fear  and  worship. 


174         THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS,    [SCENE  II. 


SCENE  II. 

A  Doric  temple,  in  ruins,  on  a  headland  above  the  Mgean 
Sea.  A  valley  and  mountains  in  the  background.  Early 
dawn. 

THE   TREES. 

Barrenly  murmur  through  manifold  branches, 

Answer  the  billows  that  tumble  ashore, 
Blossom  or  strip  in  the  march  of  the  seasons, 

We  are  but  sport  of  the  winds,  and  no  more  ! 

Shadow  we  give  them  where  once  we  were  holy, 
Lintel  and  beam  for  the  being  they  stole  ; 

Service  for  sacrifice,  litter  for  garlands, 
Use  for  the  Beauty  they  granted  a  soul. 

Desolate,  cold,  is  the  shell  of  the  Dryad  ; 

Still  are  the  dances,  the  oracles  dumb  : 
Playmates  of  old,  we  are  slighted  as  strangers, 

Shorn  of  our  honor  in  ages  to  come  ! 


THE   RIVERS. 

We  are  loud  and  silent,  we  hasten  and  dally, 

We  bless  and  waste,  as  in  days  that  are  dead ; 
We  dance  on  the  hillside  and  sleep  in  the  valley, 

With  the  rocks  as  a  cradle,  the  reeds  as  a  bed  ; 
But  the  nymphs  of  our  fountains  leave  them  untended, 

And  the  god  of  the  stream  is  gone  from  his  urn  : 
The  term  of  our  human  beauty  is  ended, 

And  its  liquid  graces  shall  never  return. 


SCENE  II.]    THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS,          175 

We  bless  and  waste,  we  speed  in  our  courses, 

We  urge  and  pilot,  we  cheer  and  call  ; 
We  wander  and  widen,  with  fetterless  forces, 

Servants  and  lovers  and  lords  of  all  ! 
The  pulses  of  Life,  in  our  veins  unbroken, 

The  movement  of  Life,  in  the  tides  we  pour, 
Still  bind  us  to  men,  with  a  secret  token, 

And  keep  us  kindred,  though  none  adore  ! 

THE   MOUNTAINS. 

Howe'er  the  wheels  of  Time  go  round, 

We  cannot  wholly  be  discrowned. 

We  bind,  in  form,  and  hue,  and  height, 

The  Finite  to  the  Infinite, 

And,  lifted  on  our  shoulders  bare, 

The  races  breathe  an  ampler  air. 

The  arms  that  clasped,  the  lips  that  kissed, 

Have  vanished  from  the  morning  mist ; 

The  dainty  shapes  that  flashed  and  passed 

In  spray  the  plunging  torrent  cast, 

Or  danced  through  woven  gleam  and  shade, 

The  vapors  and  the  sunbeams  braid, 

Grow  thin  and  pale  :  each  holy  haunt 

Of  Gods  or  spirits  ministrant 

Hath  something  lost  of  ancient  awe  ; 

Yet  from  the  stooping  heavens  we  draw 

A  beauty,  mystery,  and  might, 

Time  cannot  change  nor  worship  slight. 

The  gold  of  dawn  and  sunset  sheds 

Unearthly  glory  on  our  heads  ; 

The  secret  of  the  skies  we  keep  ; 

And  whispers,  round  each  lonely  steep, 

Allure  and  promise,  yet  withhold, 

What  bard  and  prophet  never  told. 

While  Man's  slow  ages  come  and  go, 


176  THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS.    [SCENE  II. 

Our  dateless  chronicles  of  snow 
Their  changeless  old  inscription  show, 
And  men  therein  forever  see 
The  unread  speech  of  Deity. 

THE  SEA. 
What  were  the  bloodless  nymphs,  the  Triton  swarms, 

The  car  of  Cypris,  Galatea's  shell, 
The  green-haired  Gods,  the  cold,  ambiguous  forms 

That  in  me  dwelt,  or  only  seemed  to  dwell  ? 

What  did  I  care  for  Glaucus  by  the  shore, 

Or  Proteus  hiding  in  the  hollow  cave  ? 
That  yon  blue  billow  old  Poseidon  bore, 

Or  Aphrodite  warmed  this  amber  wave  ? 

Those  freaks  of  fancy  were  as  dying  spray, 
The  foamy  fringes  of  the  strength  I  hurled, 

Whose  bosom  heaves  to  one  unsetting  Day, 
The  azure  guard  and  girdle  of  the  world. 

If  Man  gives  being,  he  gave  naught  to  me, 
And  of  mine  empire  naught  has  overthrown  : 

I  am,  I  was,  and  I  shall  ever  be 
Apart  in  power,  inviolate,  unknown. 

Before  my  myriad  voices  he  is  dumb, 

Yet  probes  their  meaning  in  eternal  pain  : 

I  call  him,  and  he  cannot  fail  to  come, 
I  cast  him  forth,  and  he  returns  again. 

So  many  Gods  have  I  exalted  hailed, 

So  many,  spurned,  have  rotted  in  my  breast; 

Yet  mine  the  balanced  powers  wherein  they  failed, — 
The  face  of  action  and  the  heart  of  rest ! 


SCENE  II.]    THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS.         177 

JOVE. 

I  hear  thine  ancient  murmur,  and  the  slow 

Reverberation  from  thy  thousand  shores. 

Who  knows  thee,  cannot  die  :  for  those,  thy  Gods, 

My  brood  that  peopled  thee,  but  strayed  in  joy 

Of  half -existence  o'er  thy  restless  fields. 

What  though  Olympus  props  dismantled  halls, 

The  dust  of  ages  on  their  golden  chairs, 

And  Ganymede  is  but  a  heap  of  bones 

Beside  the  shrivelled  eagle,  —  still  I  live, 

Much  as  I  was  before  my  children  made 

Their  easy  ladders  for  the  climbing  souls 

Of  men,  who  dreamed  while  dreaming  that  they  knew. 

All  chains  of  life  they  grasped  led  back  to  me  ; 

All  aspirations  pointed  on  to  me, 

And,  like  thyself,  I  bounded  then  the  world. 

If  now  the  chains  be  broken,  otherwhere 

The  eyes  be  turned,  and  features  not  mine  own 

Shine  from  that  void  beyond  both  men  and  Gods, 

Shall  I  then  cease  ?     Not  so  :  the  later  reign 

Is  built  on  mine,  of  mine  the  later  laws 

Are  born,  and  he  who  rules  resembles  me. 

ELOHIM. 

Thou  liest  to  thyself,  as  thou  erewhile 
Didst  lie  to  men.     We  saw  thy  hollow  state, 
And  we  allowed,  foreknowing  its  decay. 
Stretch  not  this  tolerance,  which  lets  thee  still 
Dream  olden  dreams,  see  olden  visions,  claim  — 
Since  broken  is  thy  painted  thunderbolt  — 
The  lightnings  of  the  Law !     We  led  the  tribes, 
By  changing  pillars  of  the  cloud  and  fire, 
From  On  to  Pisgah  :  we  upheld  their  hands  : 
We  planted  them  among  the  pleasant  vales, 
And  they,  our  children,  knew  the  Lord  their  God. 

12 


1 7»          THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS,    [SCENE  II. 

They  cried,  and  we  did  hear  :  they  went  astray, 
And  then  we  smote  them  :  as  they  honored  us, 
We  gave  them  honor,  and  as  they  obeyed 
We  blessed  them  ;  till  the  chosen  seed  became 
Exalted  o'er  the  kingdoms  of  the  world. 
Thy  bestial  co-mates,  Baal  and  Peor 
And  Ashtaroth,  have  died  disgraceful  deaths  : 
Why  livest  thou  ? 

JOVE. 

Thou  wert  a  jealous  God, 

And  wouldst  none  others  have  beside  thee.     Yet 
They  were,  and  led  thy  chosen  seed  astray. 
If,  knowing  thee,  men  justice  learned,  and  truth, 
And  worship,  which  is  highest,  I  bestowed 
Joy,  beauty,  grace,  and  with  permitted  toys 
Coaxed  my  fair  children  to  a  fairer  state. 
I  grudged  thee  not  thy  shrines  and  oracles, 
Prophet,  and  judge,  and  psalmist,  having  mine. 
I  saw  thy  ways,  and  read  what  even  thou 
Not  yet  acknowledgest,  but  which  draws  nigh 
To  shake  our  thrones  :  for  as  we  are,  we  are : 
We  cannot  rise  when  clearer  eyes  of  men 
Attain  our  height,  and  strive  to  pierce  beyond 
Their  own  colossal  shadows.     Mark  where  ours 
Fall  side  by  side  upon  the  race  below, 
Featured  alike  in  power  and  majesty, 
Yet  fading  in  a  sweet  and  solemn  light 
That  dawns  above  them  !     Be  not  wroth  with  me  : 
I  kept  thy  secret  as  thou  keptest  mine. 

ELOHIM. 

Yea,  thou  hast  worked  for  us  :  what  we  foreknew 
Was  thy  foreboding.     If,  like  cloud  on  cloud, 
Something  of  us  is  dimly  thrown  on  thee, 


SCENE  II.]    THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS.          179 

We  are  the  sun  whereby  our  shadow  falls. 
If  thou  wouldst  live,  teach  men  the  way  to  us 
Through  justice,  fear,  and  through  avenging  law  ; 
And  leave  thy  lusts  and  base  necessities 
To  those  below  the  thunder  ! 

JOVE. 

See,  where  come 

The  orbs  of  Ligth  and  Darkness  from  the  East, 
Across  thy  heavens,  as  't  were  the  cloud  of  stars 
Beside  the  lone  black  blot  of  starless  space, 
In  that  far  universe  I  know  not  of. 
They,  too,  are  Gods,  and  claim  their  equal  seats. 

ORMUZD. 

Be  mighty,  ye,  for  them  who  look  to  Power  ; 
Be  stern  and  just  for  them  who  bow  to  Law  ; 
Be  jealous,  kind,  or  cruel,  as  your  tribes 
Demand  such  discipline  !     I  am  but  one, 
One  spirit,  effluence,  operation,  force, 
One  sweet  and  sovereign  heart,  whose  beats  began 
With  first  of  things,  and  shall  be  felt  in  all 
Forever  !     Void  of  veil  or  mystery 
My  being  men  behold,  and  with  weak  arms 
Draw  down  to  wed  their  own,  and  give  them  peace. 
The  lowest  feels  me,  and  the  highest  fails 
To  grasp  my  sole  omnipotence  of  Good. 

AHRIMAN. 

Make  room  for  me,  twin  of  thine  eldest  birth  ! 
If  each  bright  sun  in  all  the  studded  sky 
Be  throne,  at  once,  and  fountain  of  thy  rays, 
Yet  in  the  unmeasured  gulfs  dividing  them 
I  dwell,  and  ever  compass  thee  around, 
One  spirit,  effluence,  operation,  force, 


i8o          THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS.    [SCENE  II. 

One  dark,  relentless  heart,  whose  beats  began 
With  first  of  things,  and  shall  be  felt  in  all 
Forever  !     Men  may  fear  me,  but  they  love  : 
They  seek  the  darkness  rather  than  the  light ; 
And  all  thine  atoms,  or  in  them  or  space, 
Are  swallowed  up  in  mine.     Thus  am  I  throned 
In  sole  omnipotence  of  Evil. 

JOVE. 

Hark! 

I  hear  a  noise  of  mighty  multitudes, 
Confused,  and  crying  from  the  fields  of  Earth, 
And  in  their  cries  I  hear  your  names  and  mine. 

MAN. 

We  found  the  Gods  above  our  ancient  idols, 
And  worshipped  them  with  voice  and  deed  and  duty. 
Each  was  unquestioned,  each  august  and  awful, 
And,  knowing  him,  we  rested  in  the  knowledge. 
We  grew  in  power,  we  builded  towns  and  temples ; 
We  wrought  the  wider  fabric  of  the  nations, 
We  made  the  forces  which  we  feared  obey  us. 
Lo  !  now,  their  spirits,  as  our  own  in  battle, 
Stand  face  to  face  :  their  dark  or  shining  legions 
Meet  in  our  souls,  and  tear  us  and  bewilder. 
We  yield  to  law,  we  seek  eternal  Justice, 
We  love  the  Good,  yet  we  accept  the  Evil, 
We  love  our  lives,  we  cling  to  joy  and  beauty, 
We  render  penitence,  we  pray  for  pardon, 
We  look  past  death  to  some  serene  Hereafter. 
Which  of  these  things  of  ours  shall  we  surrender  ? 
They  were  bestowed  :  how  can  they  be  divided  ? 
Shall  we  be  umpires  in  the  high,  supernal 
Debate  of  Gods,  or  is  there  One  beyond  them 
Whom   we   have   heard,    through    them,   in    changing 
voices  ? 


SCENE  II.]    THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS.         181 

Then  come  Thou  near,  enlighten  and  console  us  ! 
Take  our  own  shape,  be  guide  and  God,  yet  brother  ! 

APOLLO. 

I  come,  your  shepherd  of  the  sunny  hills 
In  Thessaly,  who  from  the  reedy  pipe 
Allured  the  hidden  sweetness  of  your  breath, 
And  made  a  music  of  your  empty  lives. 
I  taught  ye  beauty,  harmony,  and  grace  ; 
I  lifted  and  ennobled  ye  ;  I  clothed 
Your  limbs  with  glory  and  your  brows  with  song. 
Nature,  the  hard,  unfriendly  mother,  gave 
Her  sweetest  milk  to  nourish  ye  anew, 
And  all  her  forms,  as  lovers  or  as  friends, 
Moved  in  your  life,  and  led  your  shining  march 
Of  ages,  as  a  triumph  !     Still  I  walk, 
Though  unacknowledged,  filling  hungry  ears 
With  purer  sound,  and  brightening  weary  eyes 
With  visions  of  the  beauty  that  may  be. 
For  Beauty  is  the  order  of  the  Gods, 
The  ether  breathed  alone  by  souls  uplift 
In  aspiration,  and  the  crown  of  all, 
Save  whom  dumb  darkness  and  the  bestial  life 
Tread  out  of  being.     Reaching  her,  ye  live. 

IMMANUEL. 

She  is  not  Love.     I  know  thy  proud,  pure  face, 

And  was  content  to  see  thy  form  as  mine, 

In  temples  where  the  Truth  was  sought  through  me. 

In  love,  in  meekness  and  in  lowliness, 

I  did  my  Father's  will :  come  unto  me, 

Ye  heavy-laden,  weary  sons  of  earth, 

And  I  will  give  you  rest.     I  do  but  speak 

The  things  He  bids  me,  of  myself  am  naught. 

Love  one  another  :  inasmuch  as  ye 


182          THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS.    [SCENE  II. 

Shall  do  it  to  the  least  of  these,  my  brothers, 

Ye  do  it  unto  me.     Behold,  I  came 

To  bring  ye  peace,  yet  also  bring  a  sword  ; 

For  love,  and  diligence  in  doing  good, 

Mercy  divine  and  holy  charity, 

Stir  up  the  evil  that  among  you  dwells  ; 

But  through  the  strife  His  Kingdom  shall  be  based, 

Who  is  alone  from  everlasting  on 

To  everlasting :  and  His  rule  is  love. 

MAN. 

One's  face  is  fairer  than  the  star  of  morning ; 
One's  voice  is  sweeter  than  the  dew  of  Hermon 
To  flowers  that  wither  :  who  is  there  beside  them  ? 
And  is  there  need  of  any  one  above  him 
Who  brings  his  gifts  of  good  and  love  and  mercy  ? 
We  climb  to  nobler  knowledge,  finer  senses, 
And  every  triumph  brings  diviner  promise, 
But  Life  is  more  :  our  souls  for  other  waters 
Were  sore  athirst,  till  He  unlocked  the  fountain. 
Now  let  us  drink  ;  for  as  a  hart  that  panteth, 
Escaped  from  spears  across  the  burning  desert, 
We  think  to  drain  the  brook,  yet  still  it  floweth. 


SCENE  III.]    THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS.        183 


SCENE  III. 

A  vast  landscape.     Sunrise. 
CHORUS   OF   SPIRITS. 

In  the  ether  of  stars,  in  the  bath  of  the  planets, 
In  the  darkest  deeps  of  the  severing  spaces, 
The  force  of  the  Spirit  is  working  on : 
And  men  have  guessed  it,  have  felt  its  glory, 
Have  babbled  its  speech,  and  fathomed  its  secrets 
In  earth  and  ocean  and  wind  and  flame. 

They  have  conquered  the   phantoms   themselves  cre 
ated  ; 

They  have  torn  the  masks  from  the  gods  aforetime, 
To  find  the  mock  of  the  face  of  Man. 
They  sprinkle  themselves  with  blood  of  atonement, 
Persuade  their  souls  to  believe  and  be  quiet, 
Yet  restlessly  reach  for  the  Wisdom  beyond. 

The  years  are  as  breath,  and  as  sands  the  ages  ; 
'Mid  a  myriad  suns  the  world  is  a  darkness  ; 
The  Deities  die  when  their  work  is  done. 
But  the  mantle  of  One  is  wide  to  enfold  us, 
The  heart  of  One  is  a  Father's  to  love  us, 
The  Spirit  of  One  shall  lift  us  and  hold  ! 

ODIN,    BAAL,    PERUN,    AND    MANITO- 

We  are  but  shadows  now,  we  know  full  well, 
Yet  life  is  sweet,  even  that  which  shadows  lead 
In  mist,  and  storm,  and  twilights  of  the  world. 
We  have  acknowledged  Thee,  the  High,  Unknown, 


1 84        THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS.   [SCENE  III. 

Who  sitt'st  above  our  passions  :  we  depend 
On  Thee,  it  seems,  and  would  behold  Thy  face, 
If  haply  blood  of  Thine  make  grand  our  limbs, 
As  ours  the  strong,  heroic  shapes  of  men. 
We  give  the  strength  which  meets  and  overcomes ; 
The  amorous  ardor  which  renews  the  world ; 
The  fierceness  which  is  needful  as  the  love, 
And  those  indulgences  to  come,  which  lure 
Where  judgment  threatens  :  shall  we  live  or  die  ? 

A  VOICE   FROM   SPACE. 

I  have  allowed  ye. 


BRAHMA. 

On  my  moveless  throne 
I  hear,  and,  that  I  speak,  suspend  the  work 
Of  effortless  creation.     If  Thou  be 
The  primal  One,  whose  being  only  is 
Forever  everywhere,  I  work  for  Thee, 
Thine  eldest  force,  who  fashioned  Indra's  peak, 
And  from  my  hand  the  holy  Ganges  stream 
Poured  as  a  long  libation,  —  bade  the  gods 
Be  hatched  in  beasts  and  from  the  lotus-flower, 
And  with  the  infant  races  sport,  until 
These  prayed  to  find  me,  and  I  was  revealed. 
I  saw  my  symbols  stolen,  saw  my  laws 
Transferred  to  other  faiths,  myself  unknown 
By  those  who  yet  obeyed  me  and  adored : 
But  I  am  calm  :  no  seed  of  meanest  life 
Hath  missed  its  place  in  falling  from  my  hand, 
Nor  any  mesh  in  all  my  boundless  net 
Of  woven  law  hath  felt  unequal  strain. 

A   VOICE   FROM   SPACE. 

Thou  doest  the  work  I  set,  yet  nam'st  thyself  : 
have  no  name. 


SCENE  III.]    THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS.         185 

ORMUZD. 

Thou  hast !  —  thy  name  is  Good. 
I  surely  know  Thee,  since  I  sprang  from  Thee. 
For  Good  is  wisdom,  Good  is  beauty,  Good 
Is  even  the  root  below  the  flower  of  Love. 
I  am  not  idle,  though  my  nature  sole 
Exists  therein,  but  like  the  active  sun, 
My  sacred  orb,  with  silent  energy 
Pervade  the  universe. 

A  VOICE   FROM   SPACE. 

Good  came  from  me. 

AHRIMAN. 

Whence,  then,  came  I  ?     Born  of  the  selfsame  womb, 

If  born,  or  separated  even  with  him, 

From  earliest  stuff  of  Gods  !     I  work  as  well 

In  mine  own  way :   I  am  the  thing  I  seem, 

And  could  not  be,  except  in  strife  with  him. 

He  may  revile  me,  but  I  owe  him  much  : 

His  children  serve  me  in  their  ignorance, 

And  round  his  brightest  altars  curls  the  smoke 

I  breathe  below  them.     If  he  came  from  Thee, 

I  came  beside  him  and  with  him  return. 

A   VOICE   FROM   SPACE. 

And  Evil  I  permitted. 

JOVE. 

In  my  youth 

I  called  Thee  Fate,  and  trembled  at  Thy  name. 
I  felt  Thou  wast,  but  knew  not  what  Thou  wast. 
Thou  gav'st  me  fair  dominions,  happy  realms, 
Hills  that  inspired,  and  wandering  seas  that  sang, 
And  noble  forms  of  men  that  worshipped  me. 


l86        THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS,    [SCENE  III. 

I  taught  them  Order,  Art,  Humanity, 

And  left  them  —  when  the  time  foretold  had  found 

All  these  in  ruin  —  nearer  to  Thy  feet. 

I  bate  no  privilege  of  ancient  pride  ; 

If  Thou  art  what  I  dream,  it  came  from  Thee  ; 

And  if  I  launched  the  thunder,  loosed  the  leash 

Of  War  and  Pestilence,  it  was  Thy  will. 

I  do  not  crouch,  for  Thou  hast  made  me  strong. 

A   VOICE   FROM   SPACE. 

Thou  wast  my  servant. 

ELOHIM. 

Art  thou  not  ourselves  ? 

We  spread  with  Thee  the  waters  of  the  deep, 
We  hung  with  Thee  the  curtains  of  the  heavens, 
And  choired  the  morning  stars  ;  we  gave  Thy  law 
In  thunder,  and  Thy  mercy  as  the  dew ; 
We  banished  other  Gods  from  out  Thy  house, 
And  smote  the  heathen  :  we  translated  Thee 
In  human  speech  to  men,  and  sealed  with  them 
Thy  Covenant ;  o'er  Thy  chosen  seed  we  watched 
In  war,  and  exile,  and  captivity, 
And  the  strange  lusts  that  visited  their  kings. 
We  mean  to  rule  forever,  and  we  claim 
Obedience  of  men  and  rival  Gods. 
If  what  we  hear  be  but  our  echoed  voice, 
Then  we  have  spoken.     Who  besides  should  speak 
From  the  unfathomed  silence  of  the  stars  ? 
We  walk  the  world  and  hear  our  names  implored, 
Behold  our  power  increase,  our  kingdom  come. 

A   VOICE   FROM   SPACE. 

Ye  I  commissioned. 


SCENE  III.]    THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS.        187 

APOLLO. 

I  but  claimed  a  place 

Among  the  serving  Gods,  yet  lords  of  men. 
Not  mine  to  call  existence  from  the  void, 
Or  give  reward,  save  what  in  Beauty's  self 
Is  given  forever  :  mine  the  simpler  task 
To  build  one  bridge  that  reaches  to  the  sky, 
To  teach  one  truth  that  brings  eternal  joy, 
And  from  the  imperfect  world  the  promise  wrest 
Of  one  perfection.     If  than  this  Man  needs 
A  broader  hope,  a  loftier  longing,  yet 
This  must  he  have  ;  bereft  of  it,  he  dies. 
He  cannot  feed  on  cold  ascetic  dreams, 
And  mutilate  the  beauty  of  the  world 
For  something  far  and  shapeless  :  he  must  give 
His  eyes  the  form  of  what  in  him  aspires, 
His  ears  the  sound  of  that  diviner  speech 
He  pines  to  speak,  his  soul  the  proud  content 
Of  having  touched  the  skirts  of  perfect  things. 
This  much  in  him  I  foster,  marring  not 
Thy  high  design,  but  lending  it  a  grace 
Which  he,  insane  to  grasp  Thee,  might  forget. 
If  Thou,  as  needs  Thou  must,  be  harmony, 
The  soft  concordance  of  my  Delphic  lute 
Is  heard  between  Thy  thunders,  and  I  keep 
My  gentle  state  in  dear  humanity. 

A  VOICE  FROM   SPACE. 

Live  !     Beauty  is  of  me. 

IMMANUEL. 

And  thou  art  chief 

A  God  of  Love  !     Who  hath  seen  me  hath  seen 
The  Father.     I  was  sent  from  Thee  to  teach 
Thy  Truth  to  souls  anhungered;  if  I  left 


1 88         THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS.   [SCENE  III. 

Untaught  the  things  of  less  account,  I  spake 
No  prohibition.  -  Men  have  used  my  name 
To  mortify  their  bodies,  maim  their  lives, 
And  plant  with  sorrow  where  I  came  to  sow 
The  seeds  of  joy,  as  in  that  pleasant  land,  <. 
In  Cana's  mansion  and  the  home  of  Nain. 
I  know  that  I  am  Thine  :  my  heart  leaps  up 
To  hear  Thee,  and  I  lean,  as  doth  a  child, 
Upon  Thy  bosom.     I  have  done  Thy  will, 
My  Father,  who  hast  not  forsaken  me. 
Accept  my  work,  and  bless  me  :  Thou  art  Love  ! 

A   VOICE  FROM   SPACE. 

Yea,  most  am  Love  ! 

IMMANUEL. 

Then  am  I  near  to  Thee  ! 

A  VOICE   FROM   SPACE. 

Thou  art  my  one  begotten  Son,  in  whom 
I  am  well  pleased. 

MAN. 

We  hearken  to  the  words 
We  cannot  understand.     If  we  look  up 
Beyond  the  shining  form  wherein  Thy  Love 
Made  holiest  revelation,  we  must  shade 
Our  eyes  beneath  the  broadening  wing  of  Doubt, 
To  save  us  from  Thy  splendor.     All  we  learn 
From  delving  in  the  marrow  of  the  Earth, 
From  scattering  thought  among  the  timeless  stars, 
From  slow-deciphered  hieroglyphs  of  power 
In  chemic  forces,  planetary  paths, 
Or  primal  cells  whence  all  Thy  worlds  are  born, 
But  lifts  Thee  higher,  seats  Thee  more  august, 


SCENE  III.]    THE  MASQUE   OF  THE   GODS.        189 

Till  Thou  art  grown  so  vast  and  wonderful, 

We  dare  not  name  Thee,  scarce  dare  pray  to  Thee. 

Yet  what  Thou  art  Thyself  hast  taught  us  :  Thou 

Didst  plant  the  ladders  which  we  seek  to  climb, 

Didst  satisfy  the  heart,  yet  leave  the  brain 

To  work  its  own  new  miracles,  and  read 

Thy  thoughts,  and  stretch  its  agonizing  hands 

To  grasp  Thee.     Chide  us  not :  be  patient :  we 

Are  children  still,  we  were  mistaken  oft, 

Yet  we  believe  that  in  some  riper  time 

Thy  perfect  Truth  shall  come. 

A  VOICE  FROM   SPACE. 

Wait !     Ye  shall  know. 


FINIS. 


PRINCE    DEUKALION: 

A   LYRICAL  DRAMA. 


Bestimmt,  Erleuchtetes  zu  sehen,  nicht  das  Licht. 

GOETHE. 

If  thou  canst  not  ascend 
These  steps,  die  on  that  marble  where  thou  art! 

KEATS. 


CONTENTS. 


ACT  L— A.  D.  300. 

SCENE  PAGB 

I.  SHEPHERD,  NYMPHS  AND  VOICES         .        .        .197 

II.    G^EA  AND   EROS    .  .  .  .  .  .  202 

III.  PRINCE  DEUKALION  AND  PYRRHA        .        .        .    207 

IV.  PRINCE  DEUKALION,  PYRRHA,  CHORUS  OF  GHOSTS 

AND  CHARON    .        .        .        .        .        .        .    211 

V.  PRINCE  DEUKALION,  PYRRHA,  PROMETHEUS,  EPI- 

METHEUS    .  .  .  .  .  .  .  2l6 

VI.  PRINCE     DEUKALION,     PYRRHA,    PROMETHEUS, 

PANDORA,  EPIMETHEUS  AND  Eos  .        .        .221 

ACT  II.  — A.  D.  1300. 

I.  PRINCE    DEUKALION,    THE   YOUTH,    SHEPHERD 

AND  SHEPHERDESS  ......     227 

II.  MEDUSA,  PRINCE  DEUKALION,  PYRRHA,  CHORUS 

AND  ANTI-CHORUS  .        .  .        ...    232 

III.  PYRRHA,  PRINCE  DEUKALION,  PROMETHEUS  AND 

Eos    ....  ....     238 

IV.  MEDUSA,  THE  NINE  MUSES,  THE  POET  AND  THE 

ARTIST      .     >.        .        .        .        .       .        .    245 

V.  EPIMETHEUS,  URANIA,   SPIRITS  OF  THE  WIND, 

THE   SNOW,  AND  THE    STREAM,  PRINCE   DEU 
KALION,  PYRRHA,  ECHOES       .        ,  .     252 

ACT  III.  — A.  D.  1 8— . 
I.  G&A,  NYMPHS,  EROS,  POET  .        .        ...        .    260 

II.  PRINCE  DEUKALION,  PYRRHA,  MAN,  WOMAN         266 
13 


194  CONTENTS. 

SCENE  PAGE 

III.  CALCHAS,  PRINCE  DEUKALION,  PYRRHA,  PROME 

THEUS  AND  CHANT 272 

IV.  "  THE  VISION  OF  PRINCE  DEUKALION  "      .        .    279 
V.  EPIMETHEUS,  URANIA 284 

VI.  PRINCE  DEUKALION,  PYRRHA,  PROMETHEUS,  EPI 
METHEUS  AND  ECHOES        ....        287 

ACT  IV.  — A.  D.  ? 

I.  AGATHON 294 

II.  URANIA,  AGATHON,  PRINCE  DEUKALION  .        .        297 

III.  PROMETHEUS,  BUDDHA,  MEDUSA,  CALCHAS,  AGA 

THON,  PRINCE  DEUKALION  AND  PYRRHA          302 

IV.  PROMETHEUS,    PANDORA,    EPIMETHEUS,    PRINCE 

DEUKALION,  PYRRHA,  SHEPHERD,  SHEPHERD 
ESS  AND  CHORUS  OF  BUILDERS      .        .        .    309 
V.  SPIRITS  OF  DAWN,  Eos,  G^EA,   PYRRHA,  PRINCE 
DEUKALION,  CHORUS  OF  MEN  AND  WOMEN 
AND  PROMETHEUS 315 


PERSONS    OF   THE   DRAMA. 


Eos,  Goddess  of  the  Dawn. 

G/EA,  Goddess  of  the  Earth. 

EROS. 

PROMETHEUS. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

PANDORA. 

PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

PYRRHA. 

AGATHON. 

MEDUSA. 

CALCHAS  (High-Priest}. 

BUDDHA. 

SPIRITS  OF  DAWN. 

NYMPHS. 

VOICES. 

CHORUS  OF  GHOSTS. 

CHARON. 


ANGELS. 

SPIRITS. 

THE  NINE  MUSES. 

URANIA. 

SPIRIT  OF  THE  WIND. 

SPIRIT  OF  THE  SNOW. 

SPIRIT  OF  THE  STREAM. 

ECHOES. 

THE  YOUTH  (Poet). 

THE  ARTIST. 

POET  (Act  III.) . 

SHEPHERD  (Man). 

SHEPHERDESS  (Woman). 

MEDIEVAL  CHORUS. 

MEDIAEVAL  ANTI-CHORUS. 

CHORUS  OF  BUILDERS. 

FOUR  MESSENGERS. 


PRINCE   DEUKALION. 


ACT   I. 

SCENE  I. 

A  plain,  sloping  from  high  mountains  towards  the  sea.  At 
the  bases  of  the  moicntains  lofty  -vaulted  entrances  of  caverns. 
A  ruined  temple,  on  a  rocky  height.  A  ShepJierd,  asleep  in 
the  shadow  of  a  clump  of  laurels :  the  flock  scattered  over  the 
plain. 

SHEPHERD  (awaking). 

HAVE  I  outslept  the  thunder  ?     Has  the  storm 
Broken  and  rolled  away  ?     That  leaden  weight 
Which   pressed  mine  eyelids  to  reluctant  sleep 
Falls  off  :  I  wake  ;  yet  see  not  anything 
As  I  beheld  it.     Yonder  hang  the  clouds, 
Huge,  weary  masses,  leaning  on  the  hills  ; 
But  here,  where  star-wort  grew  and  hyacinth, 
And  bees  were  busy  at  the  bells  of  thyme, 
Stare  flinty  shards  ;  and  mine  unsandal'd  feet 
Bleed  as  I  press  them  :  who  hath  wrought  the  change  ? 
The  plain,  the  sea,  the  mountains,  are  the  same ; 
And  there,  aloft,  Demeter's  pillared  house,  — 
What !  —  roofless,  now  ?     Are  she  and  Jove  at  strife  ? 
And,  see  !  —  this  altar  to  the  friendly  nymphs 
Of  field  and  flock,  the  holy  ones  who  lift 


198  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acx  I. 

A  poor  man's  prayer  so  high  the  Gods  may  hear,  — 
Shivered  ?  —  Hath  thunder,  then,  a  double  bolt  ? 
They  said  some  war  of  Titans  was  renewed, 
But  such  should  not  concern  us,  humble  men 
Who  give  our  dues  of  doves  and  yeanling  lambs 
And  mountain  honey.     Let  the  priests  in  charge, 
Who  weigh  their  service  with  our  ignorance, 
Resolve  the  feud  !  —  't  is  they  are  answerable, 
Not  we;  and  if  impatient  Gods  make  woe, 
We  should  not  suffer ! 

Hark  !  —  what  strain  is  that, 
Floating  about  the  copses  and  the  slopes 
As  in  old  days,  when  earth  and  summer  sang  ? 
Too  sad  to  come  from  their  invisible  tongues 
That  moved  all  things  to  joy  ;  but  I  will  hear. 

NYMPHS. 
We  came  when  you  called  us,  we  linked  our  dainty 

being 
With  the  mystery  of  beauty,  in  all  things  fair  and 

brief ; 

But  only  he  hath  seen  us,  who  was  happy  in  the  seeing, 
And  he  hath  heard,  who  listened  in  the  gladness  of 

belief. 

As  a  frost  that  creeps,  ere  the  winds  of  winter  whistle, 
And  odors  die   in   blossoms  that  are  chilly  to  the 

core, 

Your  doubt  hath  sent  before  it  the  sign  of  our  dis 
missal  ; 
We  pass,  ere  ye  speak  it ;  we  go,  and  come  no  more ! 

SHEPHERD. 

If  blight  they  threaten,  't  is  already  here ; 

Yet  still,  methinks,  the  sweet  and  wholesome  grass 

Will  sometime  spring,  and  softer  rains  wash  white 


SCENE  I.]  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  199 

My  wethers'  fleeces.     We,  Earth's  pensioners, 
Expect  less  bounty  when  her  store  is  scant ; 
But  while  her  life,  though  changed  from  what  it  was, 
Feeds  on  the  sunshine,  we  shall  also  live. 

VOICES  (from  underground}. 
We  won,  through  martyrdom,  the  power  to  aid  ; 
We  met  the  anguish  and  were  not  afraid ; 

Like  One,  we  bore  for  you  the  penal  pain. 
Behold,  your  life  is  but  a  culprit's  chance 
To  rise,  renewed,  from  out  its  closing  trance  ; 

And,  save  its  loss,  there  is  not  any  gain  ! 

SHEPHERD. 

What  tongues  austere  are  these,  that  offer  help 

Of  loving  lives  ?  —  that  promise  final  good, 

Greater  than  gave  the  Gods,  so  theirs  be  lost  ? 

Sad  is  their  message,  yet  its  sense  allures, 

And  large  the  promise,  though  it  leaves  us  bare. 

I  would  I  knew  the  secret  ;  but,  instead, 

I  shudder  with  a  strange,  voluptuous  awe, 

As  when  the  Pythia  spake  :  't  is  doom  disguised, — 

Choice  offered  us  when  term  of  choice  is  past, 

And  we,  obedient  unto  them  that  choose, 

Are  made  amenable  !     Hark,  —  once  again  ! 

NYMPHS. 

Our  service  hath  ceased  for  you,  Shepherds  ! 

We  fade  from  your  days  and  your  dreams, 
With  the  grace  that  was  lithe  as  a  leopard's, 

The  joy  that  was  swift  as  a  stream's  ! 
To  the  musical  reeds,  and  the  grasses  ; 

To  the  forest,  the  copse,  and  the  dell ; 
To  the  mist,  and  the  rainbow  that  passes ; 

The  vine,  and  the  goblet,  — farewell ! 


200  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acx  I, 

Go,  drink  from  the  fountains  that  flow  not !  — 
Our  songs  and  our  whispers  are  dumb  : 

But  the  thing  ye  are  doing  ye  know  not, 
Nor  dream  of  the  thing  that  shall  come.  ! 

VOICES. 

Flame  hath  not  melted,  nor  did  earthquake  rend 
The  dungeons  where  we  waited  for  The  End, 

Which  coming  not,  we  issue  forth  to  power. 
We  quench  vain  joy  with  shadows  of  the  grave  ; 
We  smite  your  lovely  wantonness,  to  save  ; 

We  hang  Eternity  on  Life's  weak  hour  ! 

NYMPHS. 

We  wait  in  the  breezes, 
We  hide  in  the  vapors, 
And  linger  in  echoes, 
Awaiting  recall. 

VOICES. 
The  word  is  spoken,  let  the  judgment  fall ! 

NYMPHS. 

The  heart  of  the  lover, 
The  strings  of  the  psalter, 
The  shapes  in  the  marble 
Our  passing  deplore  : 

VOICES. 

Truth  comes,  and  vanity  shall  be  no  more  ! 

NYMPHS. 

Not  wholly  we  vanish  ; 
The  souls  of  the  children, 
The  faith  of  the  poets 

Shall  seek  us,  and  find. 


SCENE  I.]  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  20 J 

VOICES. 

Dead  are  the  things  the  world  has  left  behind. 

NYMPHS. 

Lost  beauty  shall  haunt  you 
With  tender  remorses  ; 
And  out  of  its  exile 

The  passion  return  ! 

VOICES. 

The  flame  shall  purify,  the  fire  shall  burn  ! 

NYMPHS. 

Lift  from  the  rivers 
Your  silver  sandals, 
From  mists  of  the  mountains 
Your  floating  veils  !  — 
From  musky  vineyard, 
And  copse  of  laurel, 
The  ears  that  listened 
For  lovers'  tales  ! 
Let  olives  ripen 
And  die,  untended  ; 
Leave  oak  and  poplar, 
And  homeless  pine  ! 
Take  shell  and  trumpet 
From  swell  of  surges, 
And  feet  that  glisten 
From  restful  brine  ! 
As  the  bee  when  twilight 
Has  closed  the  bell,  — 
As  love  from  the  bosom 
When  doubts  compel, 
We  go  :  farewell  ! 


202  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  I. 

SHEPHERD. 

The  strains  dissolve  into  the  hollow  air, 

Yet  something  stays,  —  a  sense  of  distant  woe, 

As  now,  this  hour,  while  the  green  lizards  glide 

Across  the  sun-warmed  stones,  and  yonder  bird 

Prinks  with  deliberate  bill  his  ruffled  plumes, 

Far  off,  in  other  lands,  an  earthquake  heaved 

The  high-towered  cities,  and  a  darkness  fell 

From  twisted  clouds  that  ruin  as  they  pass. 

But,  lo  !  —  who  rises  yonder  ?  —  as  from  sleep 

Rising,  slow  movements  of  a  sluggish  grace, 

That  speak  her  gentle,  though  a  Titaness, 

And  strong,  though  troubled  is  her  breadth  of  brow, 

And  eyes  of  strange,  divine  obscurity. 

She  sees  me  not :    I  am  too  mean  for  sio-ht 

& 

Of  such  a  goddess  ;  yet,  methinks,  the  milk 
Of  those  large  breasts  might  feed  me  into  that 
Which  once  I  dreamed  I  should  be,  —  lord,  not  slave  ! 


SCENE  II. 
The  Same. 

G.EA. 

I  travail  for  my  children.     Babe,  or  youth, 

Or  man  attempered  unto  utmost  life, 

The  mother's  care  still  follows,  grows  no  less. 

The  swift  impending  change  scarce  other  is 

Than  what  my  sons  have  borne  erewhile,  and  thriven. 

As  the  thin  blood  of  boyhood,  while  it  takes 

The  ripening  power  of  increase  in  its  turn, 

Distrusts  itself,  half  fears  its  own  rich  force, 

So,  now,  it  may  be. 

Yet  • —  I  change  with  Man, 


SCENE  II.]         PRINCE  DEUKALI( 

Mother  not  more  than  partner  of  his 
Ere  he  was  born  I  dreamed  that  he  mio 
And  through  long  ages  of  imperfect  life 
Waited  for  him.     Then,  vexed  with  monstrous  shapes 
That  spawned  and  wallowed  in  primeval  ooze, 
•    I  lay  supine  and  slept,  or  seemed  to  sleep ; 
And  dreamed,  or  waking  felt  as  in  a  dream 
Some  touch  of  hands,  some  soft,  delivering  help,  — 
And  he  was  there  !     His  faint  new  voice  I  heard  ; 
His  eye  that  met  the  sun,  his  upright  tread, 
Thenceforth  were  mine  !     And  with  him  came  the  palm, 
The  oak,  the  rose,  the  swan,  the  nightingale  : 
The  barren  bough  hung  apples  to  the  sun : 
Dry  stalks  made  harvest :  breezes  in  the  woods 
Then  first  found  music,  and  the  turbid  sea 
First  rolled  a  crystal  breaker  to  the  shore. 
His  foot  was  on  the  mountains,  and  the  wave 
Upheld  him :  over  all  things  huge  and  coarse 
There  came  the  breathing  of  a  regal  sway, 
Which  bent  them  into  beauty.     Order  new 
Followed  the  march  of  new  necessity, 
And  what  was  useless,  or  unclaimed  before, 
Took  value  from  the  seizure  of  his  hands. 

Ah  me,  in  those  old  days  how  near  and  fond 
Was  he,  how  frank  in  fashion  or  in  fear 
His  thoughtless  adolescence  !     To  my  life 
The  birth-cord  still  unsevered  held  his  own  : 
He  took  my  comforts,  seeking  none  beyond, 
And  crept  for  shelter  to  my  shielding  arms. 
But  now  —  mistrust,  and  shame  of  aid  outgrown, 
And  bitter  enmity  that  springs  from  shame, 
And  faith  perverse  in  opposite  of  faith, 
Have  made  him  froward.     I  am  forced  to  seem 
She-wolf  or  pantheress,  a  savage  dam, 


204  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  I. 

And  lose  the  eager  mouth  that  sought  my  dugs, 

Until  its  native  thirst  returns  ;  but  he,  — 

Sleep-walking  in  the  senses  once  so  keen, 

With  eyes  uplifted  to  some  distant  crown, 

That,  while  it  burns,  makes  other  glory  dust, — 

How  long  shall  he  thus  wander  ?  —  and  how  bear 

The  lack  of  all-sustaining  loveliness  ? 

Shall  fairest  sights  and  sweetest  sounds  be  dim, 

And  out  of  movement  die  the  rhythm  of  joy, 

And  beauteous  passion  lose  its  power  to  warm  ?  — 

All  freedom,  exultation,  and  delight 

That  lifted  him,  all  energies  and  high  desires 

That  bore  him  forth  as  blow  the  fourfold  winds, 

Be  lashed  and  goaded  on  a  single  path, 

One  iron  chariot  draw  ? 

Lo  !  here,  the  Rose  ; 

The  woman-flower  he  could  not  choose  but  love, 
Shall  he  forget  it  ?     Shall  he  turn  from  breath 
Distilled  of  bliss  and  bountiful  bright  hours, 
To  taste  the  incense  rank  in  censers  burned, 
Which  seems  to  mask  some  odor  of  decay  ? 

(A  bud  on  the  rose-tree  bursts  open  :  EROS  appears.} 

EROS. 
Not  yet  am  I  barred  in  Hades, 

Though  a  word  unknown  hath  hurled 
The  Olympian  lords  and  ladies 

To  wail  in  the  nether  world  ! 
Let  Proteus  shift  in  ocean 

From  shape  to  shape  that  eludes  : 
I  am  one,  as  the  heart's  devotion, 

Yet  many,  as  lovers'  moods  ! 

G^EA. 

Blithe,  tricksome  spirit !     Art  thou  left  alone, 


SCENE  II.]         PRINCE  DEUKALIOX.  205 

Of  Gods  and  all  their  intermediate  kin 
The  sweet  survivor  ?     Yet  a  single  seed, 
When  soil  and  seasons  lend  their  alchemy, 
May  clothe  a  barren  continent  in  green. 

EROS. 

Was  I  born,  that  I  should  die  ? 
Stars  that  fringe  the  outer  sky 
Know  me  :  yonder  sun  were  dim, 
Save  my  torch  enkindled  him. 
Then,  when  first  the  primal  pair 
Found  me  in  the  twilight  air, 
I  was  older  than  thy  day, 
Yet  to  them  as  young  as  they. 
All  decrees  of  Fate  I  spurn  ; 
Banishment  is  my  return  ; 
Hate  and  Force  purvey  for  me, 
Death  is  shining  victory  ! 

G^EA. 

Thou  art  the  same,  —  child  of  the  highest  Gods, 
Whatever  shape  they  we*ar,  and  child  of  mine  ! 
Reclaim  thy  heritage  !  —  I  give  to  thee 
Maytime,  and  music,  and  all  odorous  herbs, 
The  whispers  of  the  woodlands  and  the  waves 
The  dewy  lustre  of  acquainted  eyes, 
The  thrill  of  meeting  hands,  and  ah!  at  last 
Of  lips  that  cannot  hold  themselves  apart, 
Save  life,  as  beauty,  perish!     Take  all  these, 
And  whatsoever  else  may  minister 
To  sweet,  insidious  influences  and  arts 
Which  are  thy  being,  — ply  the  treachery 
That  into  blessing  soon  forgives  itself ; 
Print  thy  soft  iris  on  white  wings  of  prayer ; 
Strike  dangerous  delight  through  sacrifice  ; 


206  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  I. 

And  interpenetrate  the  sterner  faith 
With  finest  essence  of  the  thing  it  spurns  1 

EROS. 
With  the  blind  desires  and  motions 

The  innocent  child  that  guide  ; 
With  girlhood's  shy  avoidance 

And  boyhood's  bashful  pride  ; 
With  the  arts  that  are  simplest  nature, 

And  the  nature  that  hides  in  art, 
When  the  voice  and  the  cheeks  bear  witness, 

And  the  eye  confesses  the  heart ; 
With  the  fond  mistrust,  and  the  frenzy, 

That  falters,  or  sweeps  above, 
When  the  key  to  delight  in  beauty 

Is  held  by  the  hands  of  love  ; 
With  the  lore  of  the  world's  renewal 

In  seed  or  in  guarded  bud  ; 
With  the  plunge  of  the  sportive  dolphin, 

And  the  heat  of  the  panther's  blood,  — 
The  spells  of  my  sway  are  woven, 

The  flame  of  my  being  fed, 
And  I  breathe  in  a  bright  existence, 

Though  the  eldest  Gods  are  dead  ! 
For  Love,  in  the  ashes  of  Empire 

And  the  dust  of  Faith,  is  born  ; 
And  the  rose  of  a  kiss  shall  blossom, 

When  blight  has  withered  the  corn  ! 

[EROS  disappears. 

G.EA. 

Needless  to  give  ! —  't  is  he  already  owns. 
Before  the  uncounted  cycles  of  the  Past 
He  was,  or  I  —  even  I  —  had  caught  no  life 
From  the  wide-floating  elements  !     Go,  then, 


SCENE  III.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  207 

Thou  beautiful,  bright  secret  of  all  suns, 

All  planets,  and  all  unimaginable  forms 

Upon  them  sown  !     Death  and  decay  are  things 

That  dissipate  beneath  thy  radiant  eye: 

So  thou  but  live,  all  else  shall  come  with  thee, 

Now  lost,  or  unto  man's  indifference 

So  seeming  ;  yet  it  hides  in  wilful  sport, 

And  million-voiced  laughter  of  the  waves 

And  winds,  and  million  wandering  smiles  of  sun 

Forever  shall  betray  it,  and  assure 

Thy  coming  triumph  !     I  am  calm  at  heart 

Now  that  I  know  thou  livest :  was  I  mad, 

To  fear,  one  moment,  thou  couldst  ever  die  ? 

SCENE  III 

A  valley,  at  the  base  of  the  mountains.     On  the  left  the  en 
trance  to  a  cavern. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Where  art  thou,  Pyrrha  ? 

PYRRHA   (coming  forward}. 

Dost  thou  call,  at  last  ? 
Awaiting  the  awakening  of  thy  thought, 
Mine  own  went  wandering. 

PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

Whithep? 

PYRRHA. 

Nay,  why  ask  ? 

What  other  moods  have  heretofore  been  ours  - 
Than  hope  by  doubt  o'ershadowed,  or  else  doubt 
Made  bearable  by  transient  gleams  of  hope  ? 
But  now  — 


208  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  1. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Now,  courage  !  —  such  as  that  we  felt, 
When  they  who  made  us  and  forefixed  our  fate, 
The  Titans,  fell  !     We  saw  the  thunder-blows 
Given  and  taken,  saw  the  ruined  world 
Lie  panting  after  fiercest  throes  endured, 
Till  milder  Gods  brought  knowledge,  peace,  and  power. 
If,  grown  familiar,  these  have  forfeited 
Their  ancient  honor,  or  their  term  is  past, 
We  need  not  question  ;  they  consent  to  see 
Themselves  in  sacred  marble  rebaptized, 
New  meanings,  borrowed  from  an  alien  race, 
Bestowed  on  their  Olympian  emblems,  —  yea, 
The  incense  burned  to  beauty,  grace  and  joy 
Made  dark  and  heavy  by  atoning  pain 
And  crowned  repentance  !     Yet,  His  law  is  good 
Who  now  shall  rule  ;  for  they  we  lose  withheld 
The  strength  of  human  hands  from  human  throats, 
Forced  them  to  join,  and  overcome,  and  build,  — 
Create,  where  they  destroyed  ;  but  He  compels 
That  strength  to  help,  and  makes  it  slave  of  Love. 
Thus,  from  the  apathy  of  faith  outworn 
Rises  a  haughty  life,  that  soon  shall  spurn 
The  mould  it  grew  from.     I  foresee  new  strife, 
Mistaken  hopes,  unnecessary  pangs, 
And  yet —  I  wait. 

PYRRHA, 

And  I  must  wait  with  thee. 
Dost  thou  recall  —  how  long  ago  it  seems  !  — 
Mine  ancient  glory  ?     Nearest,  then,  I  stood  : 
Our  hands  —  ah,  why  not  also  lips  ?—  had  met, 
And  o'er  thy  head  I  saw  the  hovering  crown 
Take  substance  from  the  air,  and  flash  on  me 
A  glow  I  hoped  was  beauty,  knew  was  1  ove  ! 


SCENE  III.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  209 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

'T  was  when  that  ether,  where  the  Ages  still 
Unwrinkled  sit,  touched  by  no  dread  of  time, 
Was  ours  to  breathe,  earth's  only  sky  serene. 
Why  were  we  banished  ?     Still  that  heritage 
Exists  :  beyond  the  dark-blue,  dimpled  sea 
Lie  sands  and  palms,  the  Nile's  wide  wealth  of  corn, 
And  soaring  pylons,  granite  roofs  upheld 
By  old  Osirid  columns  :  there  the  sun 
Sheds  broader  peace  in  all  his  aged  beams, 
And  hoary  splendor  on  uncrumbled  stone. 
There  still  the  star  Canopus  sends  the  dew, 
Though  sound  of  sistrum  in  the  dusky  halls 
Has  ceased,  and  Memnon  lost  his  morning  song. 
Well  thou  rememberest,  Pyrrha  !  —  that  which  was, 
Once  in  the  Past,  flies  forward,  like  a  string 
Sharp  struck,  and  straightway  in  the  Future  plants 
Its  brighter  phantasm  :  more  than  was,  shall  be  ! 

PYRRHA. 

My  heart  is  lifted,  and  my  spirit  feeds 
Upon  thy  words. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Pure,  patient,  brave,  thou  art ; 
But  they  who  set  thee  back,  despoiled  thy  head 
Of  separate  honor,  and  postponed  my  right 
Through  thine  refused,  were  their  progenitors 
Whose  kingdom  cometh.     Thee  they  may  restore 
To  equal  freedom  to  renounce  and  bear,  — 
Like  martyrdom  :  lend  me  thy  finer  sense 
To  see  beyond  1 

PYRRHA. 

So  much  the  Titans  gave  1 
14 


210  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  I. 

Yet  that,  reclaimed,  is  one  fulfilment  more. 

Pain  is  to  me  what  conflict  is  to  thee,  — 

A  joy,  when  born  of  large  necessity. 

What  musest  thou  ?     I  see  thine  eyes'  clear  light 

Recede  within  their  depths,  as  in  a  lake 

Its  surface-azure  when  the  cloud  sails  o'er. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Erelong  some  spasm  of  the  vexed  Earth  shall  close 

This  cavern's  mouth,  the  last,  sole  entrance  left 

To  Hades  :   I  would  once  more  see  the  face 

And  hear  the  counsel  of  my  Titan  sire, 

Prometheus,  where  he  sits  in  sunless  air, 

Not  suffering,  haply,  neither  glad.     And  thou, 

Heiress  of  gifts  interpreted  as  woe, 

Since  the  divinest  fate  wears  evil  face 

To  mortals,  let  thy  steps  companion  mine  ! 

Terrors  shalt  thou  behold,  and  threatening  forms, 

And  with  the  stress  of  stern,  eternal  words 

Thy  brain  may  falter :  canst  thou  hear  the  doom 

Which  sifts  the  ages  as  the  fingers  sand, 

And  plays  with  hope,  and  patience,  and  despair. 

Like  beads  upon  a  string,  —  inexorable, 

Fixed  from  the  first  ? 

PYRRHA. 

So  I  be  near  to  thee. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Touch,  then,  my  hand  !     It  is  permitted  us 
To  feel  each  other's  blood,  but  nothing  more, 
Till  that  far  day  when  our  betrothal-kiss 
Asserts  the  victory  sure,  the  empire  won  ! 

[  They  pass  into  the  cavern 


SCENE  IV.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  211 


SCENE  IV. 

A  spacious,  arched  cavern,  opening  upon  a  shadowy,  colorless 
landscape.    Enter  PRINCE  DEUKALION,  leading  PYRRHA. 

CHORUS   OF  GHOSTS. 

Away  ! 

Ashes  that  once  were  fires, 
Darkness  that  once  was  day, 
Dead  passions,  dead  desires, 

Alone  can  enter  here  ! 
In  rest  there  is  no  strife, 
And  memory  is  not  life  : 

We  neither  hope  nor  fear. 
Like  some  forgotten  star, 
What  first  we  were,  we  are. 
The  Past  is  adamant : 
The  Future  will  not  grant 
That,  which  in  all  its  range 

We  pray  for  —  Change  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

You  found  the  thing  you  sought :  what  fashioned  else 
These  sunless  realms  ?     If  change  may  verily  come 
Even  to  spirits,  teach  your  dim  desire 
A  form  whereby  to  know  itself,  and  seek  ! 

CHORUS    OF   GHOSTS. 

Retreat !  Retreat, 
Unwelcome  feet ! 
Whom  doth  not  blast 
The  horror  of  his  Past, 
Who  dares  to  see 
Himself  in  memory, 


212  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acr  I. 

And  thus  reclaim 
The  inevitable  shame, 
Him  only  suffer  we  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Prepare  your  test ! 

PYRRHA. 

What  thing  is  here  designed  ? 
Thy  face  is  pale,  despite  the  firm-set  lips, 
And  level  glance  of  thine  unshrinking  eyes  : 
No  passing  pain  awaits  thee. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Nay,  but  power 
That  grows   from  pain  !     Hear'st   thou  the  whistling 

rush 

Of  many  wings  that  part  the  heavy  air, 
And  bat-like  cries,  thin,  impotent  of  sound, 
That  now  betray  the  disconcerted  ghosts 
Huddling  before  us  to  the  river-bank  ? 

PYRRHA. 

If  I  behold  these  things  I  seem  to  see, 

I  know  not :  yonder  lies  a  dreary  marsh, 

Such  as  at  ebb  for  many  a  league  deforms 

A  river's  narrowing  mouth ;  gray  sedges  wave, 

Unwhispering  ever,  o'er  the  slimy  flats, 

Beyond  which  glooms  the  semblance  of  a  shore. 

But  who  is  this,  so  haggard,  limp  and  old, 

Approaching  us  ?     As  with  uncertain  joints 

He  walks,  still  held  erect  by  senile  wrath, 

That  shoots  dull  gleams  from  sleep-desiring  eyes, 

Were  sleep  permitted  here. 


SCENE  IV.]        PRINCE   DEUKALION.  213 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

'T  is  surely  he, 
The  ancient  ferryman  of  Hades  ! 

CHARON. 

Ay, 

Nor  vanquished  yet !     Where  wait  the  ghosts  of  men  ? 
Hath  Death  been  dispossessed  ?     The  upper  world 
With  tears  and  due  libations  feeds  no  more 
My  sullen  river  :  muddy  shallows  grow 
From  either  side,  and  trespass  on  my  right, 
Till  soon  dishonest  ghosts  may  wade  across. 
Yet,  wherefore  do  I  question  ?     You,  I  guess, 
Intend  no  answer,  and  eternal  Fate 
Hath  left  for  you  one  power  of  entrance  still. 
You  seek  not  Lethe  :  so  much  say  your  eyes. 
Here  lies  the  other  pool,  as  charged  with  light 
As  that  with  darkness,  —  awful  Memory, 
More  dread  to  bear  than  black  Forgetfulness  : 
Look,  or  go  hence  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

I  look. 

PYRRHA. 

And  I  with  thee. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Forbear  !     The  knowledge  must  be  mine  alone.  — 

Within  the  moveless  crystal  depths,  far  down, 

The  rings  of  ages  widen  and  dissolve 

The  while  I  gaze  :  distinct,  abominable, 

I  see  ourselves,  before  the  Titans  were ; 

I  see  the  bestial  base,  unpurified, 

Its  hideous  features  smeared  with  filth  and  blood, 


214  PRINCE  DEUKALION:  [ACT  i. 

Its  rites  unspoken,  acts  unspeakable, 

Wild  savage  instinct  beating  back  the  brain, 

Low  savage  greed  a  despot  in  the  heart, 

And  all  that  ever  since  mixed  foul  alloy 

With  the  bright  metal  of  our  dreams,  —  despair 

Should  the  defiant  God  within  us  fail  — 

\Ht  pauses. 

PYRRHA. 

Say  on,  nor  spare  my  service  !     Shall  I  see, 
Thus,  only,  in  the  mirror  of  thy  speech, 
The  unfeatured  truth  ? 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

(To  CHARON.) 

Is  there  aught  more  than  this  ? 

CHARON. 

Look! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Nay  !  —  the  forms  grow  dim  ;  and  under  all 
There  shines  a  face  that  is,  methinks,  mine  own  ! 

(Lifting  his  head.} 

What  flimsy  pride  was  pierced  so,  heretofore  ? 
There  is  no  shame  save  what  begets  itself 
On  old  remorse,  that  keeps  its  cause  alive. 
I  see,  nor  shudder  :  vice  outlived  is  dead, 
And  feeds  its  purest  opposite  in  us. 
No  scent  of  mould  is  on  the  rose's  leaves  ; 
No  stain  of  slime  degrades  the  lotus-cup  ! 
Slave  of  the  Gods,  thy  lease's  term  still  holds  : 
Perform  thy  duty  ! 

CHARON. 

Take  the  oars  yourselves, 


SCENE  IV.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  215 

And,  to  your  sorrow,  cross  !     My  purse  is  lean, 

So  rarely  comes  an  obolus  :  the  boat 

Leaks,  the  worn  handles  of  the  ancient  blades 

Rattle  between  the  thole-pins.     Could  I  push 

The  beggar  ghosts  off,  crowd  my  bark  with  rich, 

Enjoy  authority,  take  delight  in  force, 

My  limbs  were  suppler ;  but  some  power  grows  slack 

In  the  world's  order.     One  gets  old  and  lame, 

And  then  the  Gods  themselves  forget  their  words. 

Do  as  you  list :  nor  hinder  I,  nor  help. 

[PRINCE  DEUKALION  and  PYRRHA  enter  the  boat. 

CHORUS    OF   GHOSTS. 

They  go  ! 
Cleaving  alone  the  stagnant  flow 

Of  our  deserted  river  : 
Who  thus  defies  the  menace  and  the  test  ? 
Is  he  some  hero  whom  the  Gods  invest 
With  warrant  to  deliver  ? 
Though  his  disdain 
Sharpens  our  slow,  devouring  pain, 
There  wakes  an  echo  in  his  word 
Of  what  in  faded  aeons  once  we  heard, 
That  change  may  come  again  ! 

We  wait : 

Uncertainty  at  last  may  bend 
Divine  decrees,  and  end 
Our  fixed  monotony  of  fate  ! 


2l6  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acr  I. 


SCENE  V. 

The  Elysian  Fields, 
PYRRHA. 

Here  can  I  breathe  :  the  sight  of  cloudy  groves 
And  meadows  of  familiar  asphodel ; 
The  broader  lift  of  this  gray  vault  o'erhead 
Half-luminous,  as  pregnant  with  a  sun  ; 
The  atmosphere  of  grand  extinguished  aims, 
Suspended  hopes  or  foiled  ambitions,  — give 
Cheer  to  my  soul ;  for  thus  in  death  survives 
Something  that  will  not  die. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Why,  death  's  a  thing 
For  who  deserve  it !  —  We  defy,  and  live. 

PYRRHA. 

What  shapes  are  these,  that,  as  we  walk,  float  on 
Beside  us  ? 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Sovereign  souls,  immortal  lives, 
That,  as  a  spring  through  myriad  secret  veins 
Collects  the  dew  and  rain-fall,  in  themselves 
Unite  all  scattered  longings  of  the  race, 
All  formless  hope  and  high  necessity, 
Distilled  through  earth  to  be  divinely  clear 
And  flow  forever  !     As  in  them  we  live, 
So  they  in  us  :   he,  with  the  bended  brow 
And  parted  waves  of  his  luxuriant  hair, 
Shall  yield  his  shadowy  forehead  to  the  thorn 
And  take  a  holier  name  :  he,  further  off, 


SCENE  V.]          PRINCE  DEUKALION.  217 

Within  whose  dim,  dark  eyes  lie  dreams  of  truth 

He  never  reached,  aspires  in  later  souls  ; 

And  yonder  king  who  love  and  lordship  gave 

To  find  Humanity,  and  grew  a  God, 

Now  first  is  regal.     These  are  not  the  ghosts 

Whom  irreversible  fiat  fetters  here  : 

They  range  the  universe. 

PYRRHA. 

Can  they  give  help  ? 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Yea  !     Faith  in  glorious  possibilities 
At  last  secures  them. 

PYRRHA. 

See  !  —  our  path  ascends, 
And  near  us,  pedestal'd  above  the  meads, 
Towers  a  rocky  platform,  wide  and  vast, 
Where  dim  Titanic  forms,  grouped  statue- wise, 
Express  so  much  of  old  expectancy 
As  saves  them  from  despair. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

I  see  those  shapes, 

And  out  of  long  oblivion  memory  breaks 
To  tell  me  who  they  are.     Pass  we  the  first, 
Whose  haggard  brows  and  ignorant  dull  eyes 
No  promise  hold  :  but  yonder,  on  the  rise, 
Who  leans  with  folded  arms  against  the  stone  ? 
Whose  forehead,  trenched  with  subjugated  pain. 
Still  keeps  the  whiteness  of  a  rising  star  ? 
Whose  lips,  that  lock  the  wisdom  of  the  world, 
Have   sweetness   left  for   love  ?      Whose   huge   bare 
limbs 


218  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acr  I. 

Affright  not,  as  their  force  were  sheathed  in  guile, 
But  rest,  in  absence  of  the  helping  deed  ? 

PYRRHA. 

Is  he  thy  sire  ? 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Prometheus,  Titan  still  ! 
Seem  not  reliant,  —  loose  thy  clinging  hand, 
And  call  the  proudest  blood  that  woman  owns 
To  prop  thine  equal  claim  ! 

PROMETHEUS    (rising). 

Come  ye  with  prayers, 
Depart ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Nay,  neither  suppliant  nor  subdued  ! 
If  no  celestial  ichor  in  thy  veins 
Throbs  warm  as  blood,  —  no  instinct  in  thy  heart 
Recalls  the  primal  purpose,  and  renews,  — 
No  will  rekindles,  not  to  war  with  fate, 
But  be,  thyself,  the  delegate  of  fate,  — 
Then  are  we  not  thy  children  ! 

PROMETHEUS. 

Ye  are  mine. 

I  know  ye  now :  will  may  defiance  seem, 
Confronted  with  the  force  that  would  destroy. 
Thence  was  I  punished  ;  but  I  set  in  Man 
Immortal  seeds  of  pure  activities, 
By  mine  atonement  freed,  to  burst  and  bloom 
In  distant,  proud  fulfilment.     When  that  day 
Has  dawned  on  earth,  I  need  no  messenger  : 
My  pilfered  strength  shall  of  itself  return, 
And  all  I  purposed  be,  ere  I  command. 


SCENE  V.]          PRINCE  DEUKALION.  219 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

I  came  to  question,  but  thy  ready  words 
Have  almost  answered. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Ask,  and  I  will  speak  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Fore-knowledge,  eager  to  fulfil  itself, 

And  too  impatient  of  reverse  that  foiled, 

Provoked  thy  torture  :  how  shall  speech  of  mine 

Shadow  the  grandeur  of  thine  early  aim, 

Living  in  us  ?     Thou  knowest,  without  my  words. 

But  change  like  this,  that  now  hath  fallen  on  earth, 

Came  never  :  never  such  consoling  love 

Made  overthrow,  such  promise  with  one  hand 

Gave  royally,  the  other  taking  back. 

These  things  confuse  my  mind  ;  but  all,  to  thee,  — 

Both  this  and  what  hereafter  comes,  —  is  known. 

Say,  only,  shall  thy  meditated  plans, 

As  in  my  soul  they  stir,  and  hold  me  up 

O'er  all  discouragement  of  time  and  change, 

Prevail  at  last  ? 

PROMETHEUS. 

If  what  I  planned  could  fail, 
Were  I  thy  sire  ?     He  who  defied  the  Gods 
Dares  Time  and  Change,  and  all  reverse  of  Fate. 
I  willed  what  I  foresaw  :  because  I  willed, 
What  I  foresaw  shall  be  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

I  seek  no  more. 

PROMETHEUS. 

But  will  excludes  not  love.     Since  thou,  adrift, 


220  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  I. 


that  immortal  woman  by  thy  side, 
N/  Floated  above  submerged  barbarity 

To  anchor,  weary,  on  the  cloven  mount, 
Thou  wastjnj_representative.     My  work 
IslvroughTin  theeTlhy  "mother's  deed,  in  her, 
Shall  yet  be  justified.     Beyond  what  hope 
Comes  to  thy  blood  through  sense  of  kin  with  mine, 
Take  one  new  comfort  —  Epimetheus  lives  ! 
Though  here,  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  crags, 
He  seems  to  slumber,  head  on  nerveless  knees, 
His  life  increases  ;  oldest  at  his  birth, 
The  ages  heaped  behind  him  shake  the  snow 
From  hoary  locks,  and  slowly  give  him  youth. 
'T  is  he  shall  be  thy  helper  :   Brother,  rise  ! 

EPIMETHEUS. 
(  Coming  forward,  ) 

I  did  not  sleep  ;  I  mused.     Ha  !  comest  thou, 
Deukalion  ?     Once  I  thought  thee  strange,  distraught, 
But  now  —  so  many  things  have  happened  since  — 
I  think  I  know  thee. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Soon  thy  work  shall  come  ! 
Reversely  miscreated,  forward  mind 
In  thee  made  backward-looking,  shame  shall  cease 
When  midway  on  their  paths  our  mighty  schemes 
Meet,  and  complete  each  other  !     Yet,  my  son, 
Deukalion,  —  yet  one  other  guide  I  give, 
Eos! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Eos? 

PYRRHA. 

Eos? 


SCENE  VI.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  221 

PROMETHEUS. 

What  echoes  these  ? 
Who  else  than  she,  the  genitrix  of  light, 
The  mother  of  the  morning  ? 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Half  I  know. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Older  than  thou,  the  stealer  of  the  fire  ! 
More  hope  in  thy  mysterious  message  lies 
Than  certain-featured  forms  of  prophecy. 
But  where,  when,  how,  shall  I  approach  her  sky, 
And  win  her  favoring  face  ? 

PROMETHEUS. 

Come  ye  with  me  ! 


SCENE  VI. 

The  highest  verge   of  the  rocky  table-land  of  Hades,  looking 
eastward. 

PROMETHEUS. 

O  Goddess  of  the  far,  flushed  fields  of  Heaven, 
Swiftly  enthroned  between  the  moon  and  sun, 
And  swiftly  passing  as  thy  roses  die, 
To  make  us  love  thee  more ;  the  dewy-eyed 
And  blossom-sandal'd  opener  of  eyes  ; 
Quickener  of  human  hearts,  yea,  hearts  of  Gods, 
Not  one  so  stubborn  but  thy  smile  subdues 
To  tenderness  ;  in  whom  all  light  and  love 
Are  one,  at  whose  pure  lamp  all  rising  Hours 
Of  hope  and  deed  and  victory  snatch  fire 
For  torches  soon  extinguished  else,  —  appear  ! 


222  PRINCE   DEUKALION.  [ACT  I. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Deceived  so  many  times,  why  should  she  dip 
Her  shining  robes  in  this  unfriendly  gloom,  — 
Why  smirch  the  star  that  on  her  forehead  burns 
And  breathe  these  vapors,  when  the  brighter  earth 
Forgets  her? 

PYRRHA. 

Speak  not  thus  !     What  virtue  lies 
More  in  achievement  than  its  hot  desire  ? 
To  shake  the  drowsed  indifference  of  men 
Even  Gods  are  powerless  :  thy  wisdom  wears 
Sad  colors  of  experience  ;  dark  thou  showest 
Against  the  light  whereto  we  set  our  brows.  — 
But  thou,  who  waitest  near,  as  one  too  proud 
Or  to  evade  or  spurn  shame  undeserved,  — 
Unhappy  wert  thou  woman,  angry  if 
A  goddess,  tranquil  being  neither,  —  speak 

PANDORA. 

No  other  words  had  opened  patient  lips. 

I  have  not  made  complaint,  though  every  sin 

Still  cheats  its  base  possessor  to  transfer 

Its  blame  to  me,  —  though  she,  who  now  my  place 

Usurps,  takes  Egypt's  serpent  for  the  Gods, 

And  eats  the  apple,  not  on  Ida's  hill  ! 

The  passion  of  the  race  offends  its  pride, 

So  this  turns  back  on  that,  and  finds  its  source  — 

Where,  but  in  us  ?     Wilt  thou  accept  it  ? 

PYRRHA. 

No! 


PANDORA. 

There  is  no  sign  in  yonder  moveless  mist 


SCENE  VI.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  223 

That  she  hath  heard  :  thine  answer  bids  me  call. — 

O  Goddess,  that  from  sleep  and  guilty  dreams 

Sprung  from  the  dregs  of  day,  from  weary  vice 

And  all  suspended  selfishness  of  men, 

Bidst  one  pure  moment  breathe  upon  the  world, 

Renewing  youth  and  beauty  ere  the  sun 

Shall  lighten  wrinkles  and  thin  hair,  —  whose  heart 

Dreams  back  Tithonus  and  dear  early  love, 

And  morning  visions  of  unwedded  girls, 

And  sweet  desires  of  uncorrupted  men, 

Shy  as  thou  art,  because  divinely  proud, 

Proud  as  thou  art,  because  divinely  pure, 

Hear  thou  my  woman's  voice  ! 

PROMETHEUS. 

Thine  hath  she  heard. 
Faint,  rosy  gleams,  unused  to  Hades,  steal 
Forth  from  the  sullen  vapor  :  here  no  star 
May  rise  before  her,  nor  the  clover-dews 
Refresh  her  feet ;  but  every  nightly  crag 
And  jutting  foreland  of  invisible  hills 
Is  angered  with  the  glory  ! 

PANDORA. 

Goddess,  rise  ! 

Forgive  the  darkness,  not  of  us  :  so  much 
As  we  may  see,  so  much  may  hear,  reveal  ! 
(A  sound,  as  of  trumpets  ) 

^  EOS   (unseen). 
So  far  away 

From  my  high  vestibule  of  Day, 
What  voices  call  ? 

PROMETHEUS. 

Titan  and  human,  each  and  all. 


224  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  I. 

EOS. 

I,  long  withdrawn, 

Leave  to  my  Hours  the  service  of  the  Dawn  : 
The  Earth,  henceforth,  shall  see 
Only  their  lower  ministry. 

But  when  the  race 

Lifts  unto  me  a  fixed,  believing  face, 
I  will  return  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Say,  shall  not  I  that  distant  glory  earn  ? 

EOS. 

Thou  !  —  thou  and  she, 
Inheritors  of  holy  destiny  ! 

Faith,  when  none  believe  ; 

Truth,  when  all  deceive  ; 

Freedom,  when  force  restrains  ; 

Courage  to  sunder  chains  ; 

Pride,  when  good  is  shame  ; 

Love,  when  love  is  blame, — 
These  shall  call  me  in  stars  and  flame ! 

Thus  if  your  souls  have  wrought, 
Ere  ye  approach  me,  I  shine  unsought ! 

PROMETHEUS. 

Yea,  under  thee  the  wavering  tide 
Of  the  Ages  that,  streamlike,  wind  as  they  glide 

Shall  mirror  or  lose  the  gleam, 
And  brighten  as  truth  or  darken  as  dream  ! 

EOS. 

If  he  but  guard  his  youth, 
His  dream  shall  be  wondrous  truth  ! 


SCENE  VI.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  225 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Call,  command  !  —  I  obey  : 
When  there  is  Dawn,  there  shall  be  Day  ! 

PYRRHA. 

I  feel,  I  love,  I  see  !  — 
Faithful  to  him  is  faith  in  thee. 

EOS. 

Oft  shall  I  lift  the  dark 
With  fringe  of  brightness  and  starry  spark  ; 

Oft  shall  I  seem  to  rise 

With  the  glory  of  Gods  in  the  waiting  skies  ; 
But  the  Hour  shall  miss  its  place, 
And  the  shadow  recede  on  the  dial's  face  ! 
Say,  are  ye  strong 
To  endure  the  wrong 
That  cheats  the  promise  and  mocks  the  trust  ? 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

I  have  borne,  and  shall  bear,  —  because  I  must. 

PYRRHA. 

The  end  shall  crown  us  :   The  Gods  are  just. 

*  EOS. 

When  darkness  falls, 
And  what  may  come  is  hard  to  see  ; 

When  solid  adamant  walls 
Seem  built  against  the  Future  that  should  be ; 
When  Faith  looks  backward,  Hope  dies,  Life  appals, 
Think  most  of  Morninj,  and  of  me  ! 

[  The  rosy  glow  in  the  sky  fades  away. 
15 


226  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  L 

PROMETHEUS. 

( To  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  ) 
Go  back  to  Earth,  and  wait ! 

PANDORA. 

(To  PYRRHA.) 
Go  :  and  fulfil  our  fate  ! 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I. 

A  "wayside  shrine,  opposite  a  fountain.  Fragments  of  antique 
sculpture  —  among  others  the  head  of  a  Muse  —  appear  in 
the  wall  of  a  vineyard,  bordering  the  road.  PRINCE  DEUKA- 
LION,  seated  on  a  rude  stone  bench,  beside  the  fountain. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

JV/TY  limbs  are  weary,  now  the  hoping  heart 
•L  *  J-     No  more  can  lift  their  burden  and  its  own. 
The  long,  long  strife  is  over ;  and  the  world, 
Half  driven  and  half  persuaded  to  accept, 
Seems  languidly  content.     As  from  the  gloom 
Of  sepulchres  its  gentler  faith  arose, 
Austere  of  mien,  the  suffering  features  worn, 
With  lips  that  loved  denial,  closed  on  pain, 
And  eyes  accustomed  to  the  lift  of  prayer. 
The  suns  of  centuries  have  not  wholly  warmed 
Those  chilly  pulses  ;  scarce  those  funeral  robes 
Permit  some  colored  broidery  of  joy  ; 
And  half  the  broken  implements  that  fell 
From  conquered  hands  of  Knowledge  and  of  Art 
Are  still  unwielded.     From  its  first  proud  height 
Humanity  must  bend  ;  and  so,  neglecting  these,  — 
Defenceless  through  its  ignorance  renewed,  — 
One  pair  of  hands  has  grasped  the  common  right, 
And  one  intelligence  the  thought  of  all ! 

Are  he  and  she,  who  now  approach  this  shrine, 
Other  than  when  the  conquering  demigods, 


228  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acx   II. 

Fair  forms  triumphant  on  high  pedestals, 
Sat  where  yon  saint,  head  downwards  on  the  cross, 
Blends  torture  with  distortion  ?     What  !     Shall  pain 
Uplift  and  save,  spilt  blood  and  dreadful  death 
The  fair,  discrowned  serenities  of  Gods 
Make  impotent  ?     But  I  will  hear  once  more 
The  subject  faith,  the  helplessness,  the  fear. 
(SHEPHERD  and  SHEPHERDESS  come  forward  and  kneel  before 
the  shrine.     After  devotions  made,  they  rise.} 

SHEPHERD. 

To  her,  Our  Lady,  Lily,  Star  of  the  Sea, 
Five  hundred  have  I  told  upon  these  beads  ; 
To  him,  now,  fifty  :  since  he  keeps -the  keys, 
Somewhat  he  may  expect.     Save  that  our  saints 
Grow  covetous  of  prayer  as  priests  of  pay, 
And  sins  provoke  in  order  to  absolve, 
Our  faith  were  easy. 

SHEPHERDESS. 

She,  if  any,  hears  ! 

Her  eyes  are  tender,  and  her  virgin  breast 
Fed  not  more  lovingly  the  Child  of  God, 
Than  mine  feeds  mine. 

SHEPHERD. 

Ay,  safe  by  chrism  and  cross 
Is  he  :  no  demons  near  his  cradle  hide  ! 
Fast  goes  with  feast,  the  penance  with  the  gift, 
Like  good  and  evil  seasons  :  pay  your  dues 
And  make  them  debtors  !     'T  is  a  plain  account 
Heaven  keeps  with  earth,  unless  the  stewards  lie. 

SHEPHERDESS. 

And,  after  her,  how  fair  the  martyr-youth 


SCENE  I.]  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  229 

Who  sees  his  coming  crown,  and  will  not  heed 
The  arrow  quivering  in  his  golden  side  ! 
Lover  to  maids,  to  me  a  brother,  son 
To  women  age-despoiled,  —  could  once  'his  eyes 
Droop  downward,  he  would  pity,  love  and  save. 

SHEPHERD. 

Why  should  they  make  the  Demons  beautiful, 

And  give  our  shrines  to  holy  ugliness  ? 

Cecilia,  sitting  at  her  organ-keys, 

And  Barbara,  queen-like  with  her  large,  calm  eyes, 

Should  be  my  goddesses,  dared  I  select : 

One  is  too  pure  to  guess  men's  easy  sins, 

The  other  wise  to  pardon.     As  we  go, 

Sing  thou  with  me  her  mellow  canticle  ! 

[Exeunt,  singing. 

For  the  secret  faith  adored, 

Thou  wast  sent,  by  spear  and  sword, 

Out  of  Egypt  to  the  Lord, 
Holy  Barbara  ! 

From  the  sun  upon  the  sand 

And  the  stars  on  either  hand, 

From  the  glory  of  the  land 
Taken,  Barbara  ! 

By  the  victory  over  pain 

In  the  tower  where  thou  wast  slain,  — 

By  thy  sacrifice  and  gain, 

Hear  us,  Barbara ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

In  these  new  names  extinguished  miracles 
Sweetly  renew  themselves  :  disparaged  types, 
Torn  from  the  pagan  world  and  set  in  ours, 
Become  again  divine.     But,  stay  !  who  comes 
With  brow  unbound  and  visionary  eyes, 


230  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  II. 

And  nervous  hands  that  clutch  as  if  they  sought 

The  antique  plectrum  and  the  chorded  shell  ? 

No  wayside  orison  arrests  his  feet, 

Yet  doth  he  pause ;  a  dream  within  his  blood 

Casts  old  divinity  on  yonder  Muse, 

And  far  ^Egean  echoes  in  his  ears 

Reach  the  forgotten  sense. 

THE  YOUTH    (to  himself }. 

Be  it  sacrilege, 

I  must  adore  thee  !     Yea,  with  hands  that  touch 
The  wounds  of  him  upon  thy  ruin  throned, 
Approach  thee  ;  none  of  all  the  hosts  that  save 
So  gaze  serenely  over  strife  and  time, 
Beholding  Beauty,  being  beautiful  ! 
I  know  not  if  I  know  thee  ;  yet  I  know 
What  in  my  soul  endeavors  to  thyself  — 
Seeks  consecration  !     Vacant  are  thine  eyes, 
Cold  thine  insulted  brow  and  mute  thy  lips, 
Yet,  Goddess,  to  thy  menial  place  I  bend, 
And  give  thee  honor  ! 

(He  stoops  and  kisses  the  lips  of  the  Muse.} 
PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

She  will  give  it  back. 

THE   YOUTH. 

(After  a  pause,} 

Who,  then,  art  thou  ?     No  pulse  in  all  my  soul 
Hast  thou  abashed  ;  but,  rather,  force  and  flame 
Of  scarcely  self-confessed  ambition  rise 
As  I  behold  thee  :  Somewhat  of  her  face 
Grows  into  broader  majesty  in  thine, 
But  human,  as  in  them  that  must  endure. 


SCENE  I.]  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  2.31 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

As  thou  must !     Out  of  all  that  was  I  come, 
Awaiting  all  that  shall  be  ;  they  that  know, 
Behold  me  ever. 

THE  YOUTH. 

•  Let  me  know,  behold  ! 

Thou  seem'st  the  shape  of  what  I  dare  to  dream. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Do  thou  my  work  !     Through  hates  and  battles  walk ; 

Eat  bitter  bread  of  strangers  ;  lose  thy  land  ; 

Give  up  thy  gentle  love,  to  find  once  more, 

An  angel  guide,  the  lily  in  her  hand  ; 

Scourge  brazen  power,  and  hunt  hypocrisy 

To  where  it  hides,  the  olden  Hades  lost, 

In  tortured  circles  of  your  later  Hell ; 

Become  a  voice  where  terror  sheathes  itself 

In  music,  Pity,  a  dove  in  whirlwinds  tossed, 

Pleads  out  of  agony,  and  primal  Love 

And  highest  Wisdom  set  alike  for  thee 

The  gate  of  Dis,  the  mount  of  Paradise  1 

THE   YOUTH. 

Thou  speak'st  as  mine  own  soul. 

PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

The  sight  unsealed, 

Without  the  courage,  seeing,  to  advance, 
Were  but  a  curse  ;  but  thou  shalt  be  a  name 
Which  is  eternal  power,  and  from  thy  pangs, 
As  by  fierce  heat,  the  chains  be  fused  apart, 
Which  now  the  tears  of  ages  rust  in  vain. 

[Exeunt. 


232  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  II. 


SCENE  II. 

Grand  hall  of  a  palace.     MEDUSA,  seated  on  a  throne  of  gold, 
a  triple  crown  upon  her  head.      Four  Messengers  standing 


MEDUSA. 

Say  to  the  East,  her  gateway  of  return 

Stands  open,  though  the  hinges  creak  with  rust : 

Whence  came  the  light  her  darkness  dare  not  bide. 

The  seven  lamps  of  Dawn  have  followed  us, 

And  grown  to  suns,  above,  beneath  our  feet, 

On  right  hand  and  on  left :  the  Day  is  ours. 

[Exit  First  Messenger. 
Say  to  the  South,  the  savor  of  her  gifts 
Delights  us  as  of  old  :  the  faint,  thin  breath 
Of  her  ascetic  watches,  sprinkled  blood 
Of  self-inflicted  penance,  speech  grown  hoarse 
In  solitude,  and  visions  born  of  brains 
Dishumanized,  have  reached  us  and  refreshed  ! 

[Exit  Second  Messenger. 
Say  to  the  West,  we  ask  no  more  than  she 
Erewhile  hath  given,  eager  and  whole  assent; 
So  flashing  back  the  surplus  of  her  light 
As  a  strong  sunset  fires  the  unwilling  East ! 

[Exit  Third  Messenger. 

Say  to  the  North,  the  firmest  hand  is  love's  ! 
Except  in  force  there  is  no  help  :  in  faith 
Abides  no  jealousy.     We  hear  her  threats 
In  patience,  as  the  frowardness  of  will 
That  brooks  no  other,  until  taught  by  loss. 
Let  her  find  freedom,  and,  as  heretofore, 
Finding,  be  cheated  !     Dreams  of  passing  days,— 


SCENE  II.]         PRINCE  DEUKALION.  233 

Selected  truth  of  ages,  — which  shall  stand  ? 
Foreseeing  penitence,  we  pardon  now  ! 

{Exit  Fourth  Messenger. 

(Sola.} 

Not  vainly  did  I  bide  my  time  :  for  Power, 

A  tree  of  cautious  growth,  shows  stunted  top 

Until  the  meshes  of  its  wandering  roots 

Have  crept  in  secret  to  the  choicest  clay ; 

Then,  shooting  firm  and  spreading  boughs  abroad, 

Resistance  withers,  rival  force  lacks  room 

Beneath  its  shade.     Now,  planted  for  all  time, 

Kings  are  my  vassals,  Knowledge  bids  me  fix 

Her  bounds  of  liberty  !     By  failure  taught 

To  seem  to  lose  for  sake  of  later  gain  ; 

With  small  success,  until  the  greater  come, 

Content ;  forgetful  never  of  the  end, 

What  hinders  me  to  make  my  single  will, 

Sheathed  in  invulnerable  divinity, 

The  world's  one  law  ? 

(A  pause  ;  she  listens. ) 

"  Growth  is  the  law,  —  or  death." 
Who  spake  ?     Or  was  it  some  last  echo  blown 
From  ended  struggles  ?     Growth  is  mine  to  give  ! 
Have  I  kept  life  for  all  that  in  the  Past 
Men  clung  to,  fed  the  old,  barbaric  sense 
With  what  it  loves,  and  paved  an  easy  way 
Between  two  worlds  to  suit  the  halting  crowd,  — 
And  am  not  potent  ?     'T  is  the  single  life, 
Proud  of  small  gifts,  defiant  in  brief  power, 
That  mocks  the  broad  authority  of  time. 
Through  vice  or  perfect  virtue  comes  alike 
Obedience  ;  this  because  it  questions  not, 
And  that,  from  need  of  pardon.     Having  these, 


234  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  II. 

Whatever  third  between  them  lies  must  soon 
Bend,  or  be  crushed  :  I  rule,  while  I  exist ! 

(Enter  PRINCE  DEUKALION  and  PYRRHA.) 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Hail,  Caesar's  heiress  ! 


Such  greeting  ? 


MEDUSA. 
Who  art  thou  ?    And  why 


PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

I  declare  thee  as  thou  art. 
The  phantom  purple  underneath  thy  stole 
We  see,  who  nursed  thy  young  humility 
That  now  is  pride,  intrusted  thee  with  strength 
To  be  the  strength  of  men,  and  made  thee  free, 
That  each  soul's  freedom  find  its  root  in  thine  ! 
How  much  of  duty  in  thy  power  survives  ? 

MEDUSA. 

I  meet  the  needs  and  the  desires  of  men. 
What  they  expect,  I  give  ;  the  seed  whereof, 
Sown  ignorantly  on  all  the  fields  of  the  Past 
By  dead  Religions,  I  have  reaped  for  them. 
The  passion  and  delight  of  sacrifice  ; 
The  comfort  out  of  self-abasement  won; 
The  lofty  symbols,  flattering  lower  sense 
Until  the  thing  it  touches  seems  divine  ; 
The  sweet  continuance  of  miracle 
That  Faith  implores,  to  feel  its  Lord  renewed  ; 
The  sanctioned  ear,  where  Guilt  may  find  release 
And  surety  of  pardon,  —  these  I  give. 


SCENE  II.]         PRINCE  DEUKALION.  235 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

These  only  ?     Treadest  thou  thy  children  down, 

Lest  they  should  grow  beyond  thee  ?     Hast  thou  peace 

For  Man's  illimitable  questions  and  desires  ? 

MEDUSA. 

Yea  !     Through  obedience,  peace  for  each  and  all. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Art  thou,  then,  more  than  man  ?     Through  him  thou 
art. 

MEDUSA. 

Thy  speech  offends  :  the  race-begotten  child 
Is  its  own  father's  lord. 

PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

Prove  lordship,  then  !  — 

Display  the  rights  bestowed,  to  balance  them 
Thou  hast  usurped  !     Man's  reverence  is  thine  : 
Where  bides  thy  reverence  for  Man  ?     The  Mind 
That,  seated  in  the  universe  of  things, 
Needs  all  its  heritage,  —  the  haughty  doubt, 
Twin-born  with  knowledge  and  of  equal  right, 
Hast  thou  made  free  ? 

MEDUSA. 

I  make  not  error  free. 

PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

Art  thou,  alone,  establisher  of  truth  ?  — 
Not  also  Man  who  made  thee,  the  high  God 
Whose  will  permits  thee  ? 

PYRRHA. 

Tell  me  what  keen  charm 
Thou  usest,  that  my  daughters  turn  to  thee  ? 


236  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acx  II. 

MEDUSA. 

Knowest  thou  thyself  and  askest  ? 

PYRRHA. 

Yea,  I  know 

The  strength  and  weakness  of  an  instinct  foiled. 
Sexless  thyself,  the  secret  of  the  sex 
Is  lightly  caught  by  thee  ;  yet,  be  thou  skilled 
To  weave  ecstatic  visions  from  hot  blood, 
And  call  heaven  down  to  fill  Love's  emptiness, 
There  dwells  a  soul  in  woman  past  thy  reach, 
A  need  that  spurns  thy  tinkling  toys,  a  claim 
Beyond  thy  lullabies  of  sense  and  sound, 
And  sweet  division  of  Divinity 
'Twixt  us  and  Man  ! 

MEDUSA. 

Thine?  — or  felt  by  all? 

PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

A  myriad  speak,  though  single  be  the  voice  ! 

We  know  thee,  Gorgon  !     Though  the  tonsured  head 

Keep  down  thy  sprouting  snakes,  the  triple  crown 

Hide  their  renewal,  yet  thy  stony  glance 

Betrays  the  ancient  beauty,  and  its  dread  ! 

Why  hast  thou  turned  from  that  defenceless  love 

Which  equalized  all  lives  of  men,  to  use 

The  mystery  of  terror  ?     Why  made  stone 

The  souls  that  moved  before  thee,  save  in  chains  ? 

Many  thy  keys  of  power,  for  thou  hast  learned 

To  govern  weakness  :  hast  thou  then  forgot 

That  force  and  freedom  live  ? 

MEDUSA. 

Perchance  in  dreams. 


SCENE  II.]         PRINCE  DEUKALION.  237 

PRINCE  DEUKALION  (advancing], 
Before  thee,  here,  I  stand  !     One  Power  decrees 
Thy  life  and  mine  :  subdue  me  if  thou  canst  ! 
My  children  made  thee,  and  shall  overthrow  ! 
Take  strength  from  all  the  Past,  on  dreams  presumed 
Build  empire,  and  exalt  thyself,  —  /  am, 
I  was,  I  shall  be  ! 

PYRRHA. 

I  no  less  ! 

MEDUSA. 

(Sinking  down  upon  her  throne.} 
Away ! 

CHORUS  (without}. 
As  a  bed  where  the  weary  sleep, 
As  a  chest  where  our  gems  we  keep 
Art  thou,  our  Mother  ! 

ANTI-CHORUS. 

Spare  us  !  we  stand  despoiled 
Of  the  goods  for  which  we  toiled  : 
Thine  is  the  hand  that  foiled  ; 
There  is  none  other. 

CHORUS. 

We  bow,  and  our  joys  endure  ; 
Assent,  and  the  Future  is  sure  ; 
Thy  rule  is  highest. 

ANTI-CHORUS. 

We  ask,'  as  thy  gifts  decrease, 
Knowledge  that  brings  us  peace, 
Freedom,  the  soul's  release,  — 
But  thou  deniest ! 


238  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  II. 

CHORUS. 

Power  and  Mystery  thine, 
Surely  art  thou  divine, 
To  reign  forever ! 

ANTI-CHORUS. 

Power,  the  child  of  Will, 
Dares  and  defies  thee  still : 
Even  God  shall  not  kill 
Man's  endeavor  ! 


SCENE  III. 

Night.  An  open  grassy  glade,  between  groves  of  ancient  oak 
and  ilex  trees,  in  a  deep  mountain  valley.  The  full  orb  of 
the  moon  hanging  low  in  the  west. 

PYRRHA  (sola). 

In  this  pure  shadow  every  rocky  scar 
Is  healed  :  there  is  no  lightest  lisp  of  leaf  : 
The  waters,  only,  never  lose  their  song, 
But  in  their  swift,  dissolving  syllables 
Some  soft  response  to  mine  immortal  hope 
Endeavors  for  a  voice.     Most,  unto  me, 
The  time  is  holy  :  wherefore  not  to  him  ? 
Not  weariness  of  baffled  toil  alone, 
Nor  late  revenges  of  subjected  sense, 
Dare  shape  his  dreams.     Our  primal  task  the  same, 
Our  purpose  one,  our  equal  bliss  through  each 
Ordained,  at  need  I  summon  him  to  me  : 

From  toil,  uniting  while  it  seems  to  part  ; 

From  visions  of  thyself,  renewed 
To  quicken  men's  discouraged  fortitude  ; 


SCENE  III.]        FRINGE  DEUKALION. 

By  the  twin  right  of  one  inseparate  heart, 
Which  speaking,  other  voice  is  dun^S,  — 

I  bid  thee  come  ! 

If  thee  I  most  may  comfort,  or  me  tho 
What  need  to  question  now  ? 
We  take,  even  as  we  give, 
Nor,  save  in  our  unreckoned  bounties,  live  ! 
Deukalion-Pyrrha,  all  myself  in  thee 
Compels  thee  unto  me  ! 

(A  patise.    PRINCE  DEUKALION  appears.} 

One  moment,  ere  thou  speakest,  let  me  gaze  ! 
Though  some  bright  rosier  flush  of  waxing  life 
Forsake  thy  features,  marbled  by  the  moon, 
Thine  eyes  remain,  and  out  of  shadow  send 
A  happy  splendor :  am  I  fair  to  thee  ? 


PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Fair  and  so  near  !     Ah,  Love,  couldst  thou  be  mine, 
Save  first  myself  were  mine  1 

PYRRHA. 

Then  I  were  less 

Than  thou  believest ;  but  my  heart  forgives 
The  over-fondness  of  complete  desire. 
I  venture  further,  dream  diviner  end  : 
Each  lost  in  each,  one  body  as  one  soul  ; 
Endless  renewals  of  surprise  and  bliss ; 
A  twofold  touch  of  life,  all  knowledge  grown 
A  double  power  through  interchanging  sense, 
As  light  should  warm  at  will,  and  heat  illume  ; 
Two  mingling  tones  to  every  passion's  voice  ; 
Twin-rays  from  eyes,  as  shines  from  sky  and  stream 
The  single  star  —  but  that  were  Deity! 
We  will  not  look  beyond  the  task  designed. 


239 


240  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acx  II. 

Guide  thou  thy  sons  as  I  my  daughters  ;  teach 
Respondent  honor  to  heroic  blood 
That  wastes  itself  in  self -forgetting  toil; 
Give  rank  and  right,  and  exercise  of  rule ; 
With  lighter  weapons  of  one  temper  arm 
The  softer  strength,  and  in  one  squadron  set, 
To  fight  the  world's  long  battle  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Force  is  kind, 
That  once  oppressed,  and  honors  fade  unworn. 

PYRRHA. 

A  favor  on  a  helm,  —  a  tourney's  crown  ! 
Cross-hilted  swords,  in  dying  unction  held, 
Crimsoning  scarf  or  glove  !     In  lordly  bower, 
Or  under  oriel,  lute  and  lay  espoused 
In  adoration  that  purveys  to  sense, 
While  lowly  virtue  is  a  jest  of  fools  ! 
What  she  bestows,  the  Head  whom  all  obey, 
Degrades  while  it  exalts,  a  sanctity 
Conferred  on  bondage  !     Why,  methinks,  the  world 
Is  but  a  monstrous  wizard,  weaving  spells, 
And  chanting,  under  breath,  some  siren-song, 
That  none  escape  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Pyrrha,  I  read  thy  mind ; 
But  till  the  snakes  upon  Medusa's  head 
Shall  turn  to  tresses,  and  be  loosed  to  dry 
Man's  bruised  feet,  or  Man  himself  shall  rise 
And  crush  them  under  his  avenging  heel, 
We  must  endure  to  wait. 

PYRRHA. 
How  long  ? 


SCENE  III.]         PRINCE  DEUKALION.  241 

I  PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Not  long  ! 

There  are  who  know  me,  whose  allegiance  went 
In  flame  aloft,  to  fall  in  thunder  back. 
The  winds  of  earth  are  wafting  to  and  fro 
The  ashes  of  great  lives,  that  seem,  to  Her, 
The  Gorgon,  dust  ;  yet  are  unquenchable, 
Immortal  fiery  seeds  of  voice  and  act, 
Her  hate  increases  when  it  would  destroy. 
So  Arnold  lives,  and  Abelard  :  so  he, 
The  youth  I  chose,  shall  with  consuming  song 
Burn  his  broad  way  through  ages  !     Thou  and  I 
Before  one  onset  walk  ;  and  thou  shalt  change 
The  old  dependence  into  loftier  aid. 

PYRRHA. 

Exact  one  space,  where  we  may  stand  alone, 
And  unassailed  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Pyrrha  !  when  proudest  thou, 
Dearest  and  most  desired  !     Full-limbed  and  fair, 
Such  perfect  beauty  in  thy  lifted  head 
It  cannot  be  defiant,  such  clear  truth 
In  thy  large  eyes,  such  glory  as  a  mist 
Around  thee  — 

(Seizing  her  hands.} 

Let  it  be  a  dream  —  no  more  ! 
Thy  hands,  a  dream,  and,  ere  the  vision  end, 
Once  let  me  know  the  lips  that  shall  be  mine  ! 

( Thunder.     The  Shadow  of  PROMETHEUS  rises.) 

PROMETHEUS. 

Not  yet  ! 
Slow-paced  is  Fate  : 


242  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acx  II. 

All  crowns  come  late. 
Couldst  thou  forget  ? 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Since  my  proud  task  began, 
Nor  more  nor  less  than  Man 
Am  I,  or  may  become. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Haste  is  not  speed, 

And  Passion  mars  the  deed ; 

And  Love's  too-early  paean  soon  is  dumb. 

PYRRHA. 

But  in  thy  scheme  lie  burning 

Keen  sparks  of  yearning, — 

The  hope  that  dies  not, 

The  voice  that  lies  not, 
The  dream,  more  bright  at  each  returning  ! 

Within  thy  reed  of  stolen  lire 

Came  .down -the  Gocti?  desire, 
Not  their  chill  calmjaf^changejsss .being. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Whence  they,  foreseeing 

Far  overthrow, 

Through  what  of  them  in  you  was  planted, 
Made  me  your  Expiator  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

The  One  we  know, 
God,  Father  and  Creator, 
Himself  to  Man  his  nature  granted  ! 


SCENE  III.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  243 

PROMETHEUS. 

He  standeth  sure. 
A  spark  of  Him  in  all,  — 
The  form  of  faith  that  dies, 
The  tenets  that  surprise, — 
Though  falling  as  ye  fall, 
He  rises  as  ye  rise  : 

He  will  endure  ! 
{The  moon  sets  :  a  faint  light  in  the  eastern  sky.) 

PYRRHA. 

Father,  them  readest  in  my  heart 
What  I  implore,  ere  thou  depart ! 

PROMETHEUS. 

Though  a  sudden  darkness  fills 
All  the  hollows  of  these  hills, 
White  and  large,  against  the  gray, 
Sparkles  Phosphor's  chilly  ray  ; 
And  the  mountain-brows  are  wan 
In  the  weakness  of  the  dawn. 
But  the  little  streak  that  lies 
At  the  bottom  of  the  skies, 
As  the  remnant-wine  in  cup, 
Fast  shall  fill  and  mantle  up, 
And,  where  yellow  coldly  grows, 
Burn  to  gold  and  flush  to  rose. 
Look,  and  hearken,  if  there  be 
Message  in  the  morn  for  thee  ! 

[PROMETHEUS  disappears. 

PYRRHA. 

Wait,  my  Deukalion  !  hand  in  hand, 
With  quiet  pulses,  beating  bliss  in  each, 
And  the  immortal  faith  that  asks  no  speech, 


244  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acr  II. 

Again  beside  me  stand  ! 

Even  now  the  glowing  tide 
Throws  its  first  foam  of  fiery  cloud,  and  wide 

The  heads  of  mountain-peaks 
Feel  day's  fresh  blood  upon  their  pallid  cheeks  : 
Already  sings  aloft  the  awakened  lark : 

Whether  she  come  or  fail,  the  Hour 

Brings  consolation  and  swift  power, 
And  I  am  strangely  happy,  —  Hark  !     Oh,  hark  ! 

EOS  (unseen). 

Mother  of  them  to  be, 
Who  wast  first  designed  in  the  Past 
To  be  fulfilled  at  the  last, 

Why  calleth  thy  soul  to  me  ! 

PYRRHA. 

For  the  beauty  my  daughters  wear 
Is  made  to  itself  a  snare  ! 

EOS. 
Beauty  alike  shall  soften  and  save, 

Till  Force  shall  feel, 

As  the  galley's  keel 
Is  lifted  and  sped  by  the  lovely  wave  ! 
Under  the  law  that  holds  me  afar, 
And  Fate's  immutable  bar, 
By  the  secret  of  something  all  divine, 
The  heart  in  my  bosom  answers  thine  ! 

PYRRHA. 

Not  yet  uncurtain  thine  eyes  ! 
I  ask  no  more. 


SCENE  IV.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  245 

EOS. 

The  slow  swift  ages  wait  in  the  skies  ; 
The  ghosts  are  eager  on  Heaven's  floor. 
What  Darkness  sowed  the  Light  shall  reap, 

And  Evil  that  reviled, 
Impregnate  in  her  drunken  sleep, 

Shall  bear  a  purer  child  ! 
(A  pause.} 

PYRRHA. 

The  roses  fade,  the  music  melts  away. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

It  is  another  day  ! 


SCENE  IV. 

The  Roman  Capitol.  MEDUSA,  throned  on  a  platform,  in 
front  of  an  ancient  church,  in  the  walls  of  which  are  seen 
columns  of  a  Doric  temple.  An  immense  multitude  gathered 
together. 

MEDUSA. 

Who  all  possesses,  dares  be  generous  ; 

And  here,  where  fell  the  guardian  god  of  Rome, 

Touched  by  a  babe's  soft  hand, — where  Caesar's  crown, 

Descending,  stopped  when  Tibur's  Sibyl  spake, 

Foreseeing  mine,  —  shall  go  indulgence  forth  ! 

No  bounty  equals  that  which  Power  bestows 

That  might  withhold  :  the  senses  must  not  starve, 

Lest  the  soul  clamor.     Out  of  what  I  hoard, 

Prepared  for  me,  the  harvest  of  the  Past, 

Some  ears  may  well  be  scattered. 

Who  demands  ? 

(  Two  step  forth  :  the  POET,  in  a  red  mantle,  his  head  crowned 
with  laurel ;  the  PAINTER,  bearing  tablet  and  pencils.) 


246  PRINCE  DEUKALIOtf.  [Acx  II. 

THE   POET. 

Faithful  to  all  thou  seemest,  I  have  sung ; 

Hate  is  my  portion,  yet  I  sing  no  less. 

Love  for  Love's  sake  instructed  first  my  tongue, 

That  Truth  so  speak,  and  Justice  so  redress. 

I  am  a  voice,  and  cannot  more  be  still 

Than  some  high  tree  that  takes  the  whirlwind's  stress 

Upon  the  summit  of  a  lonely  hill. 

Be  thou  a  wooing  breeze,  my  song  is  fair ; 

Be  thou  a  storm,  it  pierces  far  and  shrill, 

And  grows  the  spirit  of  the  starless  air: 

Such  voices  were,  and  such  must  ever  be, 

Omnipotent  as  love,  unforced  as  prayer, 

And  poured  round  Life  as  round  its  isles  the  sea ! 

THE   PAINTER. 

Faithful  to  all  thou  seemest,  I  have  made 

Thy  glories  visible,  in  beauty,  grace, 

Pain,  death,  and  triumph  !     I  have  set  thy  saints, 

In  tints  exalting  life  above  itself, 

And  aureoled  faces  caught  from  ecstacy, 

For  endless  worship.     Vassal  unto  thee 

Therein,  the  separate  service  now  outruns 

My  vassalage  ;  for  beauteous  Art  compels 

Her  Beauty's  freedom ! 

MEDUSA  (aside}. 

Freedom  ?  still  the  moon 
These  children  cry  for. 

Yet  for  thee  there  pleads 

No  crownless  Muse,  of  them  that  haunt  the  ways 
Of  men,  and  think  they  live  :  thine  never  lived  ! 
But  of  the  others  whoso  linger  still, 
Long  out  of  service,  living  on  men's  alms, 
Decoying  pity  through  their  old  respect 
And  fallen  honor,  —  let  them  now  appear  ! 


SCENE  IV.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  247 

(Enter  THE  MUSES.) 
So  much  of  dignity  in  ruin  lives  ? 
Save  that  some  faces  smile,  and  some  are  calm 
With  certainty  of  ancient  place  renewed, 
Ye  were  defiant :  but  your  pride  is  fair  ! 
It  suits  me  well  to  find  dependent  now 
Such  haught  existences  :  as  I  grant  leave, 
Ye  may  endure  :  in  them  who  served  the  old, 
The  newer  faith  rewards  like  loyalty. 
First  of  the  triple  triads  those  advance, 
Who  nearest,  lightest-natured,  cheerfullest, 
Were  loved  of  men,  and  made  the  moment  speed ! 

EUTERPE,  THALIA  AND  TERPSICHORE. 

In  the  woods  and  highlands 

We  linger  near  ; 
By  the  shores  and  islands, 

When  skies  are  clear. 
Delight  of  existence, 

In  the  feet  that  fly, 
Calls  from  the  distance, 

Our  glad  reply  ; 
But  the  joys  are  sweeter 

That  to  all  belong, 
When  the  foot  gives  the  metre, 

The  heart  the  song  ! 
No  more  you  banish 

Than  a  cloud  the  sun  : 
We  only  vanish 

To  be  re-won  ! 

MEDUSA. 

Good  service  offers  !  —  't  is  the  must  of  youth, 
The  hum,  and  surge,  and  sparkle  of  fresh  blood, 
That  must  have  sway :  be  these  my  vintagers, 


248  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  II. 

So  mine  the  later  wine  !     Yea,  let  the  vats 
Even  over-foam,  'tis  sign  of  potent  fire 
Stored  in  the  vessels  when  my  seal  is  set, 
And  acrid  strength  of  age.     Without  excess 
Were  less  restraint :  here  may  indulgence  lie  ! 
Go,  altarless  yet  worshipped,  —  ye  are  free  ! 

MELPOMENE,  POLYHYMNIA  AND  ERATO. 

When  Music  fails,  and  Joy  is  dumb 
To  men's  exalted  need,  we  come. 
Our  swords  of  sharper  beauty  cleave 
The  spells  of  senses  that  deceive, 
And  out  of  yearning,  pain  and  power, 
We  call,  and  rule,  one  glorious  hour  ! 
Time  cannot  mar  nor  Conquest  wrong 
The  swift,  majestic  march  of  Song, 
Or  Faith,  in  man's  august  desire, 
Quench  the  least  atom  of  her  fire. 
The  Thought  that  strays,  afar,  alone, 
We  guide  to  speech  and  charm  to  tone  : 
The  breathless  Passions  pause,  to  see 
Their  rage  resolved  to  harmony  ; 
The  terror  of  their  language  wooed 
To  music,  and  to  law  subdued  ; 
Till  all  things  dread,  fair,  fugitive, 
Touched  by  eternal  Beauty,  live  ! 

MEDUSA. 

These  are  suspect :  whom  shall  they  rule  —  or  serve  ? 
( A  patise. ) 

THE   POET. 

Me,  if  none  other  !     Yonder  multitude 

Scarce  knoweth  what  it  loves,  yet  loves  no  less, — 

Enjoys,  forgets,  discards  and  craves  again, 


SCENE  IV.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  249 

Breathing  high  thoughts  unconsciously  as  air  : 

Without  them,  stifled  !     Those  are  welcome  now, 

Who  bring  the  sportive  liberty  of  life 

To  the  sad  world's  late  holiday  ;  but  these, 

Seldom  as  odors  on  the  arid  hills, 

Still  keep  their  fond  surprises  ! 

MEDUSA. 

Under  guard, 

Then,  let  the  Three  go  forth  !     They  reach  too  high. 
Who  plucks  on  tip-toe  at  the  dangling  grape 
Pulls  down  the  vine  :  what 's  Passion  but  revolt  ? 
What,  save  the  music  of  illicit  minds, 
Is  Poetry  ?     Yet  purposed  deeds  may  sleep, 
Lulled  by  the  measure  of  their  own  wild  dreams. 
The  accumulate  store,  saved  from  the  wrecks  of  Time, 
Frayed  raiment,  spangled  thick  with  Pagan  gems, 
Is  hoarded  in  my  vaults  ;  but  at  my  will 
Be  spent  the  treasure  !  —  easy  luxury 
To  brains  that  else  might  coin,  or  claim,  or  steal. 
These  Three,  of  men  surmised  or  coveted, 
May  walk  the  world  henceforth  ;  but,  under  guard  ! 

CALLIOPE    AND    CLIO. 

Daughters,  whom  Zeus  and  she, 
Wide-browed  Mnemosyne, 
Gave  to  the  sons  of  earth, 
In  wisdom,  might  and  mirth 
Divinely  so  to  lead 
That  word  is  wed  with  deed  ; 
And  action,  rhythmic  grown, 
Stands  as  in  sculptured  stone  ; 
And  noble  speech  commands 
Service  of  swords  and  hands  ; 
We  wait,  but  do  not  ask 
Continuance  of  our  task  ! 


PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  II. 

MEDUSA. 

Thou,  of  the  keen,  persuasive,  perfect  voice, 
Thee  I  require  !  —  despite  the  haughty  flash 
Of  thine  unshrinking  eyes,  I  know  the  spell 
That  rules  thee  :  wait,  I  '11  feed  thy  tongue  with  fire  ! 
Thou,  too,  whose  stylus  wanders  restlessly 
Across  the  empty  tablets,  at  my  feet 
Sit  down,  and  write  me  legends  !     I  have  store  : 
Pain,  penitence,  and  power  and  miracle, 
Glory,  disaster,  blessing,  —  by  one  soul 
Informed,  linking  the  ages  in  one  scheme 
Grander  than  all  thy  fables  ! 

Who  art  thou, 

The  last,  who  speakest  not  ?     Thine  eyes  are  set 
Like  one  who  sees  not,  thine  attentive  ear 
Hearkens  to  something  far  away.     Most  fair 
Wert  thou,  could  Beauty,  careless  of  delight, 
Wear  Wisdom's  mask.  —  What  Lamia  lingers  here  ? 

(Aside.} 

No  supplication,  nay,  but  pity  shines 
From  those  firm  eyes  :   I  cannot  look  them  down  ! 
Is  it  the  coldness  of  the  serpent  blood 
So  chills  me  ?     Serpent  ?  —  one  of  us  must  writhe 
When  the  end  comes  ;  but  ages  lie  between. 

URANIA. 

The  clear  lamp,  colorless, 
Of  high  Truth  I  possess. 
Hope,  Will  and  Faith  may  spurn, 
While  fresh  their  torches  burn, 
What,  kindling  now  afar, 
Seems  but  a  dying  star  : 
Yet,  wheeling  as  it  must, 
This  little  orb  of  dust 
Not  more  the  Law  divine 


SCENE  IV.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  251 

Establishes,  than  mine. 
Shall  Faith  permit  me  ?     Nay, 
Thine  standeth  in  my  way  ! 
The  strong,  unshaken  mind 
May  shun  me,  but  must  find  ; 
Devotion,  bowed  to  thee, 
Is  upward  blown  to  me, 
Who  over  Change  and  Time 
Stand  single,  strong,  sublime  ! 

MEDUSA. 
(Rising  suddenly. ) 

Seize  the  blasphemer  !     What !  —  from  air  she  came, 
To  air  returns  ?     Or  doth  some  shadow  still 
Glide  past  yon  hoary  columns  ?  —  She  is  gone  ! 
Set  double  guards  around  our  borders  !     Bar 
With  fire  and  steel  her  entrance  !     Say,  shall  we 
Hold  parley  with  such  immemorial  hate, 
Or,  being  Life  to  men,  permit  this  Death 
Her  darts  to  scatter  ? 

Take,  new-wrought  for  you, 
My  children,  chosen  of  the  seed  of  Earth, 
The  timbrels  and  the  flutes  of  joy  ;  the  pomp 
Of  color,  music,  marble,  gems  and  gold  ; 
The  tender  pardon  of  the  whispered  sin  ; 
The  symbols,  fitting  to  the  weary  mind 
An  easy  load,  so  keeping  truth  alive 
In  dusky  mysteries  ;  and,  shadowing  God's, 
The  universal  watchfulness  of  Power  ! 

[Exil  MEDUSA  :  the  multitude  retires. 

THE   POET. 

(Solus,  gazing  down  tipon  the  mins  of  the  Forum,'] 
Urania  !  —  not  thy  face  that  earliest  wooed  me, 
And  from  these  ancient  ashes  called  the  fire  ! 


252  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  II. 

Thy  sister,  even  in  marble  sleep,  subdued  me 

Unto  free  Song's  untamable  desire  ; 

And  he,  in  whom  I  feel  myself  united 

To  deed  and  word  and  vision  that  inspire,  — 

Life's  homeless  Prince,  alone  in  dreams  invited,  — 

Is  of  thy  race,  and  waits  afar  for  thee. 

What  now  thou  art,  Spirit  so  spurned  and  slighted, 

I  know  not,  nor  can  guess  what  thou  shalt  be  : 

But  through  the  light  of  Day  thine  eyes  are  burning, 

Thy  feet  are  on  the  mountains  and  the  sea ; 

The  holy  planets,  going  and  returning, 

Keep  thy  clear  paths  untangled  in  the  sky  : 

Thy  wisdom  shall  replace  our  hoodwinked  yearning, 

Thy  living  laws  the  mysteries  that  die  ! 


SCENE  V. 

A  pass  among  the  High  Alps. 
EPIMETHEUS  (solus}. 

Bright  Earth  !     The  echo  of  the  fateful  words  : 
"  Rise,  Brother  !  "  scarce  in  twilight  Hades  dies, 
And  I  behold  thee  !     Bath  of  dazzling  Day, 
Take  these  spent  limbs,  revive  the  old  Titan  blood, 
Sharp  wine  of  mountain-ether  !     Are  yon  snows 
Our  Caucasus  ?  —  yon  melting  distances 
The  meads  of  Phasis,  or,  on  Morning's  side, 
The  Caspian  and  the  far  Chorasmian  plain  ? 
Here,  now,  the  hoary,  storm-tormented  peaks 
Stand  silent :  muffled  thunders  from  below 
Make  brief  disturbance  :  slopes  of  tender  turf, 
Untrampled  by  the  steer,  and  flowers  uncropped, 
Smile  a  faint  summer  down  the  hollow  dells, 
And  dark  with  lifeless  water  lies  the  lake. 


SCENE  V.]         PRINCE  DEUKALION.  253 

There  wheels  a  vulture,  giving  to  the  blue 
The  shade  or  sparkleTof  his  slanted  wings, 
But  seeking  other  quarry  :  not  for  me 
Is  torture,  save  the  pang  of  growing  sight, 
And  slow  remembrance  of  the  things  that  were. 
The  Past,  that  'mid  her  ruins  lay  a-swooned, 
In  me  recovers  :  pulse  by  pulse  must  I 
Recall  my  life,  and  word  by  word  my  speech, 
And  age  by  age  my  knowledge  ! 

(Enter  URANIA.) 

Also  thou, 

Whom,  eminent  in  Babylon,  I  saw,  — 
Or  wise  in  secrets  of  the  Memphian  stars, 
Or  hermitess  on  Samos,  royal  guest 
In  Academe,  — endurest  ? 

URANIA. 

I  endure. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Where  wast  thou  ? 

URANIA. 

Waiting  in  the  dust  of  earth 
And  the  eternal  splendor  of  the  stars. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Has  thy  day  dawned  ? 

URANIA. 

Yea,  ever  is  at  dawn, 
So  men  but  lift  their  eyes  ! 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Where  goest  thou  ? 


254  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acr  II. 

URANIA. 

To  them  that  seek  me. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Goddess,  I  return 

To  draw  the  forfeit  forces  of  my  youth 
From  dull,  forgetful  age  :  be  thou  my  help  ! 

URANIA. 

Learn  what  to  ask,  I  give  :  not  mine  to  guess 
The  need  of  others.     Epimetheus,  thou, 
A  yearning  shadow,  must  create  thyself 
And  thine  equality  of  final  power. 
Not  yet  thou  knowest  me  ;  but,  as  I  go, 
Speak,  soft,  unsilenced  Spirit  of  the  Wind, 
Speak,  kindred  Spirits  of  the  Snow  and  Stream, 
Declare  my  being  ! 

[She  descends  the  northern  side  of  the  pass. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Spirits,  I  listen  :  speak  ! 

SPIRIT    OF   THE   WIND. 

From  the  parched  Numidian  waste, 

From  the  hills  of  hot  Fezzan, 
I  sprang  with  a  boundless  haste 

That  only  the  stars  outran; 
Over  mountain  and  Midland  Sea 

That  strove  to  tire  or  tame, — 
Over  Etna  and  Stromboli 

That  pierced  me  with  smoke  and  flame ; 
Till  I  laid,  in  the  first  desire 

That  bended  my  pinions  low, 
The  cheek  of  the  sylph  of  fire 

On  the  breast  of  the  gnome  of  snow ! 


SCENE  V.]          PRINCE  DEUKALION.  255 

For  the  powers  of  ruin,  that  meet 

In  the  vaults  of  space,  must  die 
When  the  spirit  that  stays  my  feet 

Is  lord  of  the  tender  sky  ! 
I  come,  to  wither  and  slay; 

I  pause,  to  quicken  and  spare  ; 
And  the  fate  of  the  world  I  weigh 

In  the  trembling  balance  of  air  ! 

SPIRIT   OF   THE   SNOW. 

Homeless  atoms,  born  in  the  sky, 
Cling  to  the  ledges  bleak  and  high, 
Fill  the  crevice  and  hide  the  scar, 
And  give  the  sunrise  a  rosy  star  !  — 
Gather  and  grow,  till  a  shield  is  won 
To  blunt  the  spear  of  the  angry  sun  ; 
Till  from  the  heart  of  my  chill  repose 
Power  awakens  and  purpose  grows,  — 
Out  of  my  torpor  the  glacier  goes  ! 
Silent,  certain,  it  crouches  and  crawls 
Down  the  gorges  in  frozen  falls, 
And  crystal  turrets  of  azure  walls, 
Tearing  the  granite  from  crest  and  dome, 
Hurling  the  torrent  forth  in  foam  ! 
Shepherding  here  my  downy  flock, 
There  I  shatter  the  ribs  of  rock  ; 
Stayed  by  a  hand  and  slain  by  a  breath, 
There  I  am  terror,  and  doom,  and  death  ! 

SPIRIT   OF   THE   STREAM. 

Over  the  mosses  and  grasses 

The  white  cloud  passes, 
Silent  and  soft  as  a  dream; 
And  the  earth,  in  her  shy  embraces, 

Conceals  the  traces 


256  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  II. 

Of  the  secret  birth  of  the  Stream  : 
Till  my  threads  are  braided  and  woven, 

And  speed  through  the  cloven 
Channels,  and  gather,  and  sink, 
And  wind,  and  sparkle,  and  dally, 

With  song  in  the  valley, 
And  shout  from  the  terrible  brink  ! 
Then  the  whirl  of  the  wind  divides  me, 

And  the  rainbow  hides  me, 
As  I  midway  scatter  in  air ; 
And  I  bathe  with  endless  showers 

The  feet  of  the  flowers, 
And  the  locks  of  the  forest's  hair  : 
Till  proudly,  with  waters  wedded, 

My  strength  is  bedded 
By  meadow,  and  slope,  and  lea ; 
And  the  lands  at  last  deliver 

Their  tribute  river 
To  the  universal  Sea  ! 

THE   THREE    SPIRITS    (as  Echoes], 

Thou,  to  power  and  empire  born, 
Stay  one  arrow  of  the  Morn  ; 
Pluck  one  feather  from  the  wing 
Of  the  wild  Wind's  wandering  ; 
Breathe  to  air  the  flakes  that  blow 
From  the  chambers  of  the  Snow  ; 
Hold  one  speck  of  drifting  Force 
From  the  measures  of  its  course  ; 
Then  of  these  hast  thou  the  chain 
Binding  Man's  immortal  brain  ! 
(Enter  PRINCE  DEUKALION  and  PYRRHA.) 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

faint,  clear  music  of  the  elements 


SCENE  V.]          PRINCE  DEUKALION,  257 

Makes  all  these  mountains  rhythmic,  and  this  air  ? 
Thou  hearest,  Pyrrha  ? 

PYRRHA. 

Not  the  same  that  fell 
From  fair  Ionian  stars,  and  found  afar 
Reverberant  echoes  on  the  mounts  of  Song; 
But  Earth  awakens  !     Hope  I  breathe,  and  power, 
Losing  my  burden  of  remembered  ill. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

New  realms,  yet  not  unknown,  invite  us.     See, 
How,  yonder,  where  the  piny  gorges  fall 
Northward,  it  spreads  !  —  a  land  of  tempered  air, 
Where  Beauty's  enemy,  rough  Toil,  abides, 
And  all  the  joyous  Muses  bind  their  brows 
With  straightening  fillets  :  never  Daphne  shakes 
Her  glossy  head,  or  Pallas'  hoary  tree 
Makes  moonlight  on  the  hills.     But  Druid  oaks, 
Univied,  stretch  their  stubborn  arms  abroad, 
The  firs  bend  black  beneath  their  weight  of  snow, 
The  gray  walls  gloom,  fire  mocks  the  absent  sun, 
And  Life,  no  more  a  lightsome  gift  of  Earth, 
Defends  itself  by  battle  :  voices  there 
Call  thee  and  me. 

PYRRHA. 

So  but  my  daughters  call, 
They  shall  behold  me  !     Under  placid  brows 
Of  Nymph  or  Goddess,  and  the  chaste  cold  breasts, 
And  beating  through  the  snow  of  perfect  limbs, 
Is  Woman  !     Beauty's  soft  inheritress, 
Let  her  uplift  her  downcast  lids,  and  see 
Power  abnegated,  dignity  unworn, 
And  equal  freedom  sheltering  equal  love. 
17 


258  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acr  II. 

PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

There  lies  Medusa's  secret :  with  such  bait 
Long  hath  she  fished  ;  but  thou  shalt  dis-immure 
Her  slaves,  and  give  them  their  abolished  sex  ! 

\_Perceiving  EPIMETHEUS. 

Here  were  a  face  —  save  that  the  kindled  eye, 
And  April  bourgeoning  of  sunny  locks 
Around  the  seamless  forehead,  might  deceive  — 
I  looked  upon  in  Hades  :  is  it  thou  ? 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Am  I  so  young,  then  ?    What  Prometheus  mused 

I  know  not  yet.     With  sight  indrawn  he  sat, 

And  seemed  to  listen,  while  our  starless  air 

One  weary  hour  hung  dead,  — then  hoarsely  spake  : 

"  Rise,  Brother  !  "  and  the  thin,  gray,  crowding  ghosts 

Whirled  on  and  would  have  risen;  but  I  was  here  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

What  doest  thou  ? 

EPIMETHEUS. 

I  listen. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Unto  whom  ? 

EPIMETHEUS. 

The  Wind,  the  Snow,  the  Stream.     The  mighty  Muse 
Bearing  an  orb,  the  star  upon  her  brow, 
Commanded  speech  of  them,  and  passed  beyond 
To  Thrace  or  Scythia. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

She  ?  —  and  thou  ?  —  Again, 
O  Pyrrha,  let  our  severed  hands  unite  ! 


SCENE  V.]          PRINCE  DEUKALION.  259 

Not  mine  the  eternal  secret  of  the  Gods 
To  fathom,  yet  their  purpose  in  my  blood 
Beats  prophecy. 

Go,  Epimetheus,  sunward, 
And  seek  thy  childhood  in  the  dust  of  ages  ! 
Burrow  in  buried  fanes  :  wash  clean  the  altars, 
And  spell  forgotten  words  on  mouldering  marble. 
Perchance  thy  limbs  shall  fail,  thy  lids  be  weary, 
And  thou  shalt  sleep  ;  fear  not,  I  will  awaken  ! 
Thy  brother's  words  fulfil :  "  Take  one  new  comfort, 
Still  Epimetheus  lives  !  "  and  now  the  morning 
Shall  not  withhold  the  unseen  eyes  of  Eos  ! 

[Exit  EPIMETHEUS. 

PYRRHA   (as  they  descend  the  pass}. 
Arching  aisles  of  the  pine,  receive  us  ; 

Dells  of  alder  and  willow,  be  fair  ! 
Something  of  ancient  beauty  leave  us, — 

Gift  for  promise,  and  deed  for  prayer ! 

ECHOES. 

In  the  shadows  of  the  pine 
Beauty  waiteth,  still  divine  : 
She  is  thine  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Will  of  manhood  and  blood  of  valor, 
Leap  as  of  old  to  the  day  at  hand  : 

Free  of  doubt  and  of  craven  pallor, 
Rise  and  ransom  the  captive  land  ! 

ECHOES. 

In  the  forge  and  in  the  mine 
Weapons  for  the  battle  shine  : 
They  are  thine ! 

[Exeunt. 


ACT   III. 
SCENE  I. 

A  valley  among  hills  covered  with  forests  of  oak  and  beech. 
Below,  in  the  distance,  a  richly  cultivated  plain,  a  city  with 
Gothic  towers,  and  a  broad  river,  dotted  with  the  sails  of 
vessels. 

POET  (passing}. 

EARTH,  thou  art  lovely  as  any  star, 
With  rest  so  near,  desire  so  far  ! 
Peace  from  the  tree-tops  on  the  hill 
Sinks,  and  the  blissful  fields  are  still ; 
While  tender  longing,  pure  of  pain, 
Dwells  in  the  blue  of  yonder  plain  ; 
And  all  things  Fancy,  faring  free, 
May  clasp  or  covet,  come  from  thee  ! 
Something  of  mine  is  everywhere, 
Trodden  as  earth  or  breathed  as  air ; 
Giving,  with  magic  sure  and  warm, 
Voice  to  silence  and  soul  to  form, 
Calm  to  passion  and  speed  to  rest, 
Borrowed  or  lent  of  mine  own  breast 
By  that  swift  spirit  that  mocks  the  eye, 
As  over  thee  the  unfeatured  sky, 
Heaving  its  blue  tides,  endlessly, 
To  planets  that  fail  to  lift  the  sea  ! 
I  am  thy  subject,  yet  thy  king  : 
Give  me  thy  speech,  and  let  me  sing ! 

{Exit, 


SCENE  I.]  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  261 

G.EA. 

Step  to  the  music  of  the  song  I  gave, 

My  Poet,  homeward  !     Lovers,  find  in  me 

Your  voiceless  eloquence  and  balm  of  bliss, 

That  else  were  pain  !     Mine  ancient  life  revives 

With  sweeter  potency  :  I  am  a  Soul 

Responsive  unto  all  that  stirs  in  Man, 

Transforming  passion  to  a  natural  voice, 

From  airy  murmurs  of  the  fragrant  weeds 

To  the  hushed  roar  of  pines,  the  tramp  of  waves, 

And  bellowing  of  the  ocean-flooded  throats 

Of  headland  caverns  !     Wafts  of  odorous  air, 

The  thousand-tinted  veils  of  dawn  and  day, 

The  changeless  Forms,  that  from  the  changing  Hours 

Take  magic  as  a  garment,  stellar  fire 

Sprinkled  from  hollow  space,  and  secret  tides 

Lifted  by  far,  fraternal  planets,  —  these 

Have  grown  to  speech,  companionship  and  power. 

Tired  of  the  early  mystery,  my  child 

Hearkens,  as  one  at  entrance  of  a  vale 

Never  explored,  for  echoes  of  his  call  ; 

And  every  lone,  inviolate  height  returns 

His  fainter  self,  become  a  separate  voice 

In  answer  to  his  yearning  !     Not  as  dam, 

With  hungry  mouth,  —  as  goddess,  with  bowed  heart 

He  woos  me  ;  or  as  athlete,  million-armed, 

Summons  my  strength  from  immemorial  sleep. 

He  comes,  the  truant  of  the  ages,  —  comes, 

The  rash  forgetter  of  his  source  ;  as  lord 

He  comes,  —  lord,  paramour  and  worshipper, 

Tyrant  in  brain,  yet  supplicant  in  soul, 

With  fond  compulsion  and  usurping  love 

To  make  me  his  ! 

Still  scorned  are  ye,  fair  Forms 
I  sheltered  ?     Under  yonder  beechen  shade 


262  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  III. 

Hath  human  longing  set  ye  ?     Hide  my  streams 
Your  beauty  still,  my  mists  your  loosened  hair  ? 

NYMPHS. 
(At  a  distance.'] 
As  the  night-air  pants  ; 
As  the  wind-harp  chants  ; 
As  the  moonlight  falls 
Over  foliage  walls  ; 
As  gleams  forerun 
The  smile  of  the  sun 
When  clouds  are  parting, 
Our  beings  are. 
We  are  held  afar 
By  a  knowledge  burning 
In  the  heart  of  yearning ; 
For  the  necromancy 
Of  the  fonder  fancy 
Breathes  back  into  air 
The  Presences  fair 
It  would  fain  restore  : 
We  are  Souls  and  Voices, 
But  Forms  no  more  ! 

GJEA. 

Ye  highly  live,  more  awful  in  the  spell 

Of  unseen  loveliness  !     No  need  to  quit 

Your  dwellings,  strike  the  dull  sense  into  fear, 

And  win  a  shallow  worship  :  Man's  clear  eye 

Sees  through  the  Hamadryad's  bark,  the  veil 

Of  scudding  Oread,  hears  the  low-breathed  laugh 

Of  Bassarid  among  the  vine's  thick  leaves, 

And  spies  a  daintier  Syrinx  in  the  reed. 

For  him  that  loves,  the  downward-stooping  moon 

Still  finds  a  Latmos  :  Enna's  meadows  yet 


SCENE  I.]  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  263 

Bloom,  as  of  old,  to  new  Persephones ; 
And  'twixt  the  sea-foam  and  the  sparkling  air 
Floats  Aphrodite,  —  nobler  far  than  first 
These  bright  existences,  and  yours,  withdrawn 
To  unattainable  heights  of  half-belief, 
Divine,  where  whole  reflects  the  hue  of  Man. 

NYMPHS. 

In  the  upward  pulse  of  the  fountain  ; 
On  the  sunny  flanks  of  the  mountain ; 
Where  the  bubble  and  slide  of  the  rill 
Is  heard  when  the  thickets  are  still ; 
Where  the  light,  with  a  flickering  motion, 
From  the  last  faint  fringes  of  ocean 
Is  sprinkled  on  sand  and  shell ; 
In  the  ferns  of  the  bowery  dell, 
And  the  gloom  of  the  pine-wood  dark, 
And  the  dew-cloud  that  hides  the  lark, 
The  sense  of  Beauty  shall  feel  us, 
The  touch  of  delight  reveal  us  ! 

{Exeunt. 

G.EA. 

Fear  not,  sweet  Spirits,  what  unflinching  law, 
Tracking  creative  secrets,  Man  may  find 
In  my  despotic  atoms  !     Who  denies 
Confirms  ye  to  the  sense  that  bade  him  seek. 
But  thou,  mine  Eros,  through  whose  ministry 
Stole  back  the  banished  Beauty,  —  as,  at  first, 
The  harmless  tear-like  trickle  of  a  stream 
Through  some  Cyclopean  clam,  that  softly  wins 
A  vantage,  till  the  whole  collected  lake 
Sets  its  large  lever  to  the  trembling  stones, 
And  freedom  follows,  —  thou,  who,  well  I  know, 
Hidest  beneath  this  roof  of  summer  leaves, 
Or  where  the  minty  meadow-breath  makes  cool 
Thine  ardent  brow,  —  appear,  and  speak  again  ! 


264  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  III. 

EROS. 

I  am  not  he  whom  Hermes  overcame, 

Nor  always  from  my  brother's  grosser  flame 

Held  my  pure  torch  afar : 
New  bows  I  span,  new  arrows  fill  my  quiver. 
Those  twain,  mine  enemies,  avoid  me  now, 
Stung  by  the  steady  radiance  of  my  brow, 

Nor,  save  in  secret,  mar 
My  lordship  over  them  that  I  deliver. 

The  penance  of  the  ages  was  in  vain  ; 

Old  sweetness  sprang  from  each  invented  pain, 

And  Love  increased  by  wrong, 
And  won  supremacy  by  sharp  denial. 
Faith  dungeoned  him,  till,  pining  for  the  day, 
He  stole  the  wings  of  Faith  and  soared  away: 

So  grew  my  nature  strong 
Through  conquered  violence,  and  pure  through  trial. 

What  though  new  strains  enrich  my  airy  lute, 
The  primal  ecstasies  are  never  mute ; 

No  throb  of  joy  is  missed, 
Nor  from  the  morn  is  any  splendor  taken. 
But  nuptials  of  the  senses  now  repeat 
The  mystery  of  equal  souls  that  meet,  — 

That  kiss  when  lips  are  kissed, 
And  each  in  each  to  sovran  life  awaken  ! 

G.EA. 

Not  mine  to  guess  thy  riddles,  —  yet  I  see 
Near  manhood  in  thine  adolescent  limbs, 
Proud  lustre  in  thine  eyes,  as,  through  the  joy 
That  still  around  thee  sparkles,  other  joy 
Made  prophecy,  but  never  of  an  end, 
And  mystic  sweetness  in  thy  budded  lips. 


SCENE  L]  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  265 

Nathless,  whenever  my  strong  spouse,  the  sun, 

Stoops  nearer,  sets  his  bosom  unto  mine 

And  stirs  all  fond,  sad  raptures  of  my  frame, 

Then  most  I  note  thee,  hurrying  to  and  fro, 

Sure  in  thy  speed  ;  or  when  he  lingering  leaves 

My  bed  of  long  delight  and  summershine 

With  last  caresses,  thou  on  every  hill 

Dost  walk  in  light,  and  breathest  through  the  woods 

Voluptuous  odors  of  the  yearning  year  ! 

Exalt  thyself  past  limits  of  my  law, 

I  feed  thee  still  !     What  soaring  mist  of  mine, 

Sun-gilded,  but  the  iron  frost  of  space 

Shall  seize  ?     What  odor  reaches  to  the  stars  ? 

EROS. 
Nor  the  soul  of  the  wandering  odor,  nor  the  light  of  the 

mist,  is  thine, 
Who  art  rolled  through  day  and  darkness,  at  the  will  of 

a  star  divine  ; 
Who  claim'st  the  arrows  of  beauty,  alone  from  its  quiver 

sped,  - 
Thou  readest  but  half  the  riddle  in  the  dust  that  else 

were  dead  ! 
Thy  life  is  blown  upon  thee,  as  a  seed  from  another 

land, 
And  the  soil,  and  the  dew  and  water,  are  the  bounty  of 

thy  hand ; 
But  the  secrets  of  whence  and  whither  are  mine  for  my 

children's  need  : 
I  go  with  the  flying  blossom,  as  I  came  with  the  flying 

seed! 


266  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acx  III. 


SCENE  II. 

A  spacious  square,  at  the  extremity  of  a  city.  In  front,  a 
church :  on  one  side  a  cemetery,  with  an  vpen  gateway :  on 
the  other  side  a  market. 

PYRRHA. 

(Looking  towards  the  gateway. ) 
There,  out  of  stubborn  wrong  and  thwarted  hope 
And  helpless  ignorance,  Earth  has  only  gained 
A  heavier  mould  ;  and  she  must  heap  her  dead  — 
As  the  slow  ages  on  her  bare  emerge 
Gathered  the  dust  for  grass,  the  deepening  sod 
For  forests  —  ere  our  seeds  of  total  life 
Find  rootage,  and  with  undecaying  green 
Redeem  this  desolation  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Yea,  but  eyes 

That  once  behold,  and  souls  that  once  believe, 
Lend  faith  and  vision  as  a  lamp  its  flame  ! 

PYRRHA. 

Ay,  Faith  !  that  limits  where  it  should  enlarge, — 
That  sees  one  only  color,  where  the  sun 
Brands  ever  three,  nor  suffers  even  them 
To  burn  unblended  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

'T  is  the  curse  of  souls 
That  selfless  aspiration  looks  above 
To  find  joy,  knowledge,  beauty,  waiting  there, 
Because  abandoned  here  ! 


SCENE  II.]         PRINCE  DEUKALION.  267 

PYRRHA. 

So  mine  await : 
They  doubt  me,  not  forbid  me. 

(l    ^X 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Doubt  but  feeds 

The  callow  faith  that  has  not  tried  its  wings. 
Be  comforted  ! 

PYRRHA. 

Deukalion,  is  it  time  ? 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

How  often,  Pyrrha,  have  we  watched  the  morn 

Divinely  flush  —  and  fade  !     How  often  heard 

Music,  that,  ere  it  bade  us  quite  rejoice, 

Died,  echoless  !     Yet  Patience  cannot  be, 

Like  Love,  eternal,  save  at  times  it  grow 

To  swift  and  poignant  consciousness  of  self  ; 

And  something  veiled  from  knowledge  whispers  now 

Prometheus  stirs  in  Hades  ! 

PYRRHA. 

Darest  thou  call  ? 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

I  dare  not.     Epimetheus  slowly  clears 
Back  through  the  gloom  and  chaos  of  the  Past 
The  path  of  his  return.     The  widening  sphere 
His  keener  vision  measures  now  for  Man 
Discrowns  Tradition,  shrinks  the  span  of  Time, 
And  throws  the  primal  purpose  of  our  fate 
Once  more  upon  us.     Thus  the  Titan  stands 
Nearer  than  when  the  frosty  fetters  burned 
His  limbs  on  Caucasus ! 


268  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  III. 

PYRRHA. 

And  also  she, 

Pandora,  freed  from  long  disgrace  of  Time, 
Since  now  her  Hebrew  shadow  flings  away 
The  fabled  evil!     When  the  Past  is  purified, 
We  shall  possess  the  Future. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Yea,  our  source, 

As  from  the  bosom  of  a  mountain  mist, 
Leaps  out  of  Nature,  innocent  at  last ! 
In  our  beginning  Destiny  divine 
Set  the  accordant  end  ;  and  this,  obscure, 
Makes  that  with  monstrous  intervention  dark 
To  human  souls.     Already  Earth  is  red 
With  ebbing  life-blood  of  the  wounded  Faiths 
That  shriek,  and  turn  their  faces  to  the  wall, 
And  shut  their  vision  to  the  holier  Heir, 
Who,  unproclaimed,  awaits  his  lordship.     Lo ! 
How  he  who  governs  these  austerer  lands 
Withholds  his  gifts,  betrays  his  promises, 
Gives  freedom  for  repentance,  not  for  change, 
Nor  other  answer  than  his  own,  to  doubt! 
Foe  to  Medusa,  in  his  secret  dreams 
He  wears  her  triple  crown,  —  allows,  perforce, 
Urania,  banished  from  her  first  abodes, 
Chill  hospitality,  an  exile's  fare, — 
No  right  of  home  !     What  will  his  welcome  be, 
When  Epimetheus,  hand  in  hand  with  her, 
Tells  the  new  story  of  the  human  Past  ? 
(Enter  a  Man  and  Woman.} 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

(To  the  Man.} 
Say,  dost  thou  know  me  ? 


SCENE  II.]         PRINCE  DEUKALION.  269 

MAN. 

At  a  distance,  I 
Have  seen  thee  pass  :  I  never  heard  thy  name. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

I  speak  it  not. 

MAN. 

Thou  movest  my  desire 

To  know,  yet,  save  the  knowledge  be  allowed, 
No  less  my  fear  :  there  's  brightness  on  thy  face, 
As  one  who  sees  no  pitfall  in  delight, 
Nor  snare  in  science,  nor  the  burden  bears 
Of  fallen  nature. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Whence  is  thine  so  dark  ? 
Art  thou  in  love  with  pain  ? 

MAN. 

I  cannot  help 

Some  joys  of  life,  and  guilty  dreams  of  more  : 
But  He  who  suffered  for  my  sake  forbids 
That  I  rejoice  too  greatly. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Wisdom,  then, 
Wilt  thou  accept  ? 

MAN. 

The  wisdom  of  the  world  ? 
Nay  :  't  is  vain-glory. 

WOMAN. 

(To  PYRRHA.) 

If  indeed  for  me 

Thou  hast  a  message,  as  thine  eyes  declare, 
Thou  knowest  my  need. 


270  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  III. 

PYRRHA. 

I  know  thine  ignorance. 

WOMAN. 

I  would  have  knowledge,  were  the  entrance  free. 

PYRRHA. 

Want  forces  entrance,  justifies  itself, 
As  hunger  crime !     But  learn  what  Beauty  is, 
And  this,  thy  present  weakness  and  reproach, 
Becomes  immortal  power! 

WOMAN. 

When  I  behold 
Thy  face,  I  seem  to  own  it. 

PYRRHA. 

Set  thou,  then, 

Whatever  visage  unto  thee  I  wear 
Within  the  shrine  of  thy  desires,  thereon 
To  brood  in  longings  born  of  motherhood, 
That  so  thy  daughters  shall  inherit  it, 
And  I  in  them  be  nearer  ! 

MAN. 
( To  the  Woman. ) 

Strange  the  words, 

Their  meaning  doubtful  :  how  shall  thou  and  I, 
Bearing  Eternity's  full  weight  alone,  — 
Ours  all  the  debt,  foreclosed  if  other  coin 
Save  what  our  Faith  supplies  be  given  as  due, 
And  poor  in  deeds  that  earn  it,  —  how  shall  we 
Accept  such  help  ?     He  wears  the  face  of  Power, 
She  that  of  Beauty  ;  what  if  both  mislead  ? 


SCENE  II.]          PRINCE  DEUKALION.  271 

WOMAN. 

Her  spirit  touches  me,  as  doth  the  sun 
A  folded  bud  :  if  I  become  a  flower, 
The  hue  and  fragrance  locked  within  my  life 
Without  my  will  are  scattered. 

MAN. 

Come  away! 

[They  f  ass  on. 
PYRRHA. 

No  more  the  shepherd  and  the  shepherdess, 

Our  children  !     'T  is  the  wisdom  of  the  school, 

So  grave  in  childish  self-sufficiency, 

That  turns  on  Nature  and  disowns  her  bliss. 

I  know  not  what  large  hope  awakens  now  : 

Pandora,  Titan-mother  !  rise  and  see 

How  speeds  thy  purpose  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Ere  thou  summon  her, 
Or  he  unsummoned  rises,  let  us  seek 
The  stately  High-Priest  who  hath  ruled  so  long 
These  broadening  realms,  advancing  nobler  fate 
Even  where  he  willed  it  not,  the  instrument 
Of  that  diviner  mystery  than  his  God  ! 
The  sky-cast  shadow  of  a  Hebrew  Chief 
Fades  o'er  his  altars  ;  and  the  aureoled  Love, 
That  later  veiled  the  tyranny,  reveals 
A  change  in  its  intensest  splendor  wrought 
Invisibly  :  if  he  hath  eyes  to  bear, 
His  ear  may  hearken,  when  Prometheus  calls. 


272  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  III. 


SCENE  III. 

The  interior  of  a  spacious  church.  In  the  chancel  a  lofty  altar, 
011  the  front  panel  whereof  is  carved  a  rayed  triangle :  on 
the  top  of  the  altar  rests  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant,  above  which 
towers  a  Cross.  CALCHAS,  High-Priest,  stands  upon  a 
raised  platform  before  the  altar,  clad  in  an  ephod  of  gold, 
blue,  ptirple  and  scarlet,  ivith  mitre,  girdle  and  breast-plate  of 
twelve  stones,  as  described  in  Exodus  xxxix.  PRINCE 
DEUKALION  and  PYRRHA  in  the  nave. 

PYRRHA. 

Still  old  the  symbols  !  —  and  the  spirit  looks 
Backward  to  whence  they  came. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

So  should  it  look, 

But  free,  across  a  conquered  realm  !     The  Past 
Is  Man's  possession,  not  his  mocking  glimpse 
Through  loopholes  of  the  jail  where  Reason  pines. 
It  gives  the  Prophet  vision,  as  a  root 
Declares  the  measure  of  the  branch  it  feeds  ; 
But  here  are  teachers,  who,  to  lead  the  blind, 
Hoodwink  themselves.     What  common  eye  can  see 
Past  things  as  present,  ancient  miracle 
To-day's  dull  fact,  God's  hand  upon  the  man 
It  looks  at  ?     Over  gulfs  of  ages  these 
First  find  their  sanctity,  as  our  dark  orb 
Drinks  light  from  ether  till  it  grows  a  star. 

PYRRHA. 

It  is  the  heart  that  dares  not  look  too  near, 
Nor  yet  too  high. 


SCENE  III.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  273 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

The  heart,  that  doubts  the  brain,  — 
Feeling,  divorced  from  knowledge,  —  this  it  is 
That  neither  loves  us  nor  can  be  estranged  ; 
That  dimly  plays  with  our  conjectured  will ; 
Obeys,  mistrusts  itself  and  grows  ashamed,  — 
Then  turns  apostate  ! 

PYRRHA. 

Nay,  Deukalion,  nay  !  — 
That,  born  anew,  retains  the  old  desire  ; 
That,  kindled  once,  keeps  memory  of  the  flame  ; 
That  out  of  thwarted  yearning,  baffled  peace, 
And  endless  pangs  of  vain  self-surgery, 
Still  floods  all  life  with  fond  presentiment 
Of  thee  and  me  ! 

(Sound  of  the  organ.} 

CHANT. 

From  this  body  of  death  deliver, 

This  burden  of  woes  ! 
We  call,  as  they  called  where  the  river 

Of  Babylon  flows. 
Like  the  wail  of  a  captive  nation 
Is  the  sound  of  our  lamentation. 
From  the  pleasures  that  still  delight  us  ; 
From  the  daily  sins  that  smite  us  ; 
From  the  difficult,  vain  repentance 
And  the  dread  of  the  coming  sentence  ; 
From  the  knowledge  that  gropes  and  stumbles  ; 
From  the  pride  of  mind  that  humbles  ; 
From  beauteous  gifts  that  harden, 
And  bliss  that  implores  not  pardon  ; 
From  the  high  dreams  that  enslave  us, 

We  beseech  Thee,  save  us  ! 
18 


274  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acx  III. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Joy  in  Thy  world  divine, 
And  the  body  like  to  Thine  ; 
Pride  in  the  mind  that  dares 
To  scale  Thy  starry  stairs, 
Rising,  at  each  degree, 
The  least  space  nearer  Thee  ; 
Strength  to  forget  the  ill, 
So  Thy  good  to  fulfil  ; 
Freedom  to  seek  and  find 
All  that  our  dreams  designed, 
Driven  by  Thine  own  goads 
Forth  on  a  thousand  roads  ; 
Patience  to  wrest  from  Time 
Something  of  Truth  sublime, 
Or  of  Beauty  that  shall  live,  — 
We  beseech  Thee,  give  ! 

CALCHAS. 

(Perceiving  PRINCE  DEUKALION  and  PYRRHA.) 
I  do  mistrust  these  strangers.     Since  that  she, 
Medusa,  thrust  them  out  from  all  her  realms, 
What  time  she  banished  her  of  orb  and  star 
I  sheltered  (threatening  now  with  adder  sting 
For  life  revived),  they  wander  to  and  fro  — 
Or  others  in  their  likeness,  —  and  disturb 
My  settled  sway.     Freedom  I  gave,  because 
Free-will  must  choose  me,  —  bade  men  seek  the  truth, 
Because  the  truth  conducts  them  back  to  me. 
Urania,  with  her  forward-peering  eyes, 
Saw  not  the  vestments,  which,  to  mark  her  mine, 
I  laid  upon  her  shoulders  :  suddenly  now, 
Full-statured,  with  uplifted  head  she  walks, 
And  drops  her  loosed  phylacteries  in  the  dust. 
These,  too  !  — whate'er  they  purpose  must  be  mine, 


SCENE  III.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  275 

If  good,  since  other  good  exists  not :  yet 
They  stir  some  quick  perversity  of  heart 
In  man  and  woman,  teach  abolished  needs, 
And  open  gates  I  shut  —  but  may  not  bar. 
They  come  this  way.     I  '11  question  them. 

PRINCE  DEUKALION  (advancing}. 

High-Priest, 
Thou  shouldst  proclaim  us,  and  thou  know'st  us  not ! 

CALCHAS. 

Much  have  I  heard. 

PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

What  most  ? 

CALCHAS. 

That  ye  do  breed 
Confusion. 

PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

Nay  !  —  but  out  of  thine  we  build 
The  ruined  harmony. 

CALCHAS. 

Then,  enemies 

Ye  now  declare  yourselves,  where  I  but  deemed 
Some  seed  of  pride  had  sprouted  o'er  its  fall. 
What  is  't  ye  do  ? 

PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

What  thou  hast  never  done, 
Who  hast  one  purpose  where  thy  sons  need  all, 
Who  keep'st  them  puppets  lest  they  grow  to  Gods  1 


276  PRINCE  DE  UK  A  LION.  [Acx  III. 

CALCHAS. 

I  seek  to  save  them. 

PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

They  will  save  themselves, 

Not  by  one  anchor  which  may  drag  them  down, 
But  carried  outward  by  all  winds  that  blow 
Into  the  shoreless  deep  !     Give  knowledge  room, 
Yea,  room  to  doubt,  and  sharp  denial's  gust 
That  makes  all  things  unstable  !     Tremble  not 
When  stern  Urania  writes  the  words  of  Law : 
Make  once  more  Life  the  noble  thing  it  was 
When  Gods  were  human,  or  the  nobler  thing 
It  shall  be  when  The  God  becomes  divine  ! 

CALCHAS. 

Blasphemer ! 

PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

Curse,  if  so  it  comfort  thee, 
Thy  weapon,  too,  is  terror  ;  but  when  men 
Cease  to  be  cowards,  idle  Hell  shall  close. 

PYRRHA. 

Yield  what  thou  canst :  there  still  is  time.     Give  up 
Dead  symbols  of  the  perished  ages  :  doff 
The  trappings  of  a  haughty  alien  race 
Whose  speech  was  never  thine :  keep  but  the  spark 
Of  pure  white  Truth  which  nor  repels,  forbids 
Nor  stings,  but  ever  broadening  warms  the  world  ! 
Think  what  thy  lips  have  promised,  how  thy  hand 
Rent  suddenly  our  chains  !     Nearest  thou  art 
Of  them  that  sway  the  torpid  souls  of  men  : 
So,  then,  be  all  where  thou  art  but  a  part,  — 
Be  all,  teach  all,  grant  all,  and  make  thyself 
Eternal ! 


SCENE  III.]       PRINCE  DEUKALION.  277 

CALCHAS. 

Am  I  not  so,  now  ? 

PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

Not  yet, 

Save  in  the  taste  of  that  thou  offerest,  — 
Repentance. 

PYRRHA. 

And  thou  mightst  be,  in  thy  love. 

CALCHAS. 

Repentance  ?   Love  ?   What  words  are  these  you  speak  ? 

One  wins  the  other :  I  announce  them  both, 

And  all  beatitude  that  follows  them. 

Beyond  the  curse  inherited  by  flesh, 

Beyond  this  cloudy  valley,  where  as  rain 

Fall  human  tears,  and  sighs  of  vain  desires 

Make  an  incessant  gust,  I  know  the  way 

To  refuge,  and  the  one  permitted  bliss 

Of  living  souls. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Let  me  behold  that  bliss  ! 
I  have  the  right  of  entrance  ;  fear  thou  not ! 
The  phantom  key  thy  hand  yet  seems  to  clutch 
Lend  me  a  moment ;  or,  canst  thou  not  yield, 
Then  stand  aside  !  —  O  Father  is  it  time  ? 

PROMETHEUS    (rises). 

What  matters,  whether  soon  or  late  ? 
Thine  is  the  burden,  thine  the  fate. 
Long  hast  thou  waited,  not  too  long, 
For  patience  is  the  test  of  wrong ; 
And  thee  the  slow  years  may  allow 


278  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  III. 

Some  right  of  deeper  vision  now. 
The  trial  art  thou  strong  to  bide, 
Explore  thy  way  !  —  there  is  no  guide. 

{Disappears. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 
(Seizing  the  horns  of  the  Ark  upon  the  altar.} 

I  know  what  holy  mysteries  were  thine 
In  the  old  days  :  but  what  art  thou  become  ? 
Yield  up  thy  spells  to  one  who  saw  thee  pass 
Through  the  dusk  halls  where  Amun-Ra  was  lord, 
Or  Nile-borne  on  thy  barque  of  flowers  !    What  lore 
Of  wandering  souls  —  of  life  beyond  the  end  — 
Is  thine  to  give  us  ? 

(A  pause.} 

Nothing  more  than  this  ?  — 
Gray  emptiness  of  space,  with  here  and  there 
A  flying  shadow,  whether  man  or  fiend 
The  eye  detects  not :  something  vast  of  form, 
Yet  Hebrew-featured,  stirred  to  mighty  wrath 
By  hostile  Gods,  defending,  as  it  seems, 
A  throne  secure,  —  uncertain  of  His  will, 
And  undecided  if  His  sons  shall  live. 
They,  too,  poor  ghosts  !  must  hover  on  the  verge 
Betwixt  two  worlds  :  they  reach  no  firmer  soil 
Of  airy  substance,  yet  which  may  upbear 
Thin  feet  of  spirits,  but  in  endless  whirl 
Drift  through  the  shapeless  void.     I  '11  look  no  more. 
(He  lays  his  hand  upon  the  Cross.) 

Symbol  of  Fire,  the  oldest,  holiest ! 
Forget  thy  speech  on  Asia's  hoary  hills, 
Dip  thy  pure  arms  in  blood  of  sacrifice, 
And  tell  me  what  thou  heraldest ! 


SCENE  IV.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  279 

CALCHAS. 


Avaunt ! 


PYRRHA. 


There  is  less  profanation  in  his  act 
Than  in  thy  prayers.     Be  silent,  —  wait  the  end  ! 
(PRINCE  DEUKALION'S  eyes  close:  he  sloivly  sinks  down  and 
lies,  leaning  against  the  altar.} 


SCENE  IV. 

THE  VISION  OF  PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

As  out  of  mist  an  unknown  island  grows, 

It  swam  in  space,  surrounded  with  repose. 

"  Behold,"  an  airy  whisper  said,  "  the  sphere 

Through  hope  existing,  as  yon  pit  through  fear ; 

For  what  men  pray  for  —  while  they  pray  —  shall  last, 

Since  Faith  creates  her  Future  as  her  Past." 

No  light  of  sun,  or  moon,  or  any  star 

Touched  the  white  battlements  that  gleamed  afar, 

Or  painted  with  strong  ray  the  pastures  wide 

Between  slow  stream  and  easy  mountain-side, 

But  over  all  such  cold  and  general  glow 

As  moonlight  spreads  upon  a  land  of  snow, 

Yet  fairer,  shone  ;  and  myriads  wandered  there, 

Giving  no  stir  to  that  unbreathing  air, 

White  as  the  meadow-blossoms,  and  as  still, 

And  white  as  clouds  on  each  unshadowed  hill. 

A  city  vast,  that  bore  an  earthly  name, 

With  thousand  pinnacles  of  frost  and  flame 

Stood  in  the  midst  ;  and  twelvefold  flashed  unrolled 

The  pavements  of  her  avenues  of  gold, 

Where  harps  and  voices  one  high  strain  did  pour 

Of  "  Holy,  holy,  holy  !  "  evermore. 


280  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acr  III. 

And  out  the  centre,  from  the  burnished  glare, 

A  golden  stairway  sloped  athwart  the  air, 

And  faded  upward,  where  a  Phantom  shone 

That  changed  in  form  to  them  that  gazed  thereon. 

These,  side  by  side,  and  wing  caressing  wing, 

Rested  like  wild  doves  on  their  wandering, 

Innumerable  :   and  o'er  them  seraphim 

Winnowed  rich  plumes  to  make  the  glory  dim, 

And  children's  faces,  kissed  with  sweeter  light, 

Circled  in  swarms  around  a  Throne  of  white. 

Shapes  of  no  sex,  too  beautiful  for  man, 

Too  cold. for  woman,  spread  the  rosy  van 

And  slanted,  shining,  far  amid  the  space. 

Some  pleasure  came  on  each  uplifted  face 

To  see  those  messengers,  —  some  rapid  awe, 

When  that  high  Form,  with  hidden  brow,  they  saw,  — 

But  else  their  eyes  were  weary,  and  the  fold 

Of  each  white  mantle  slept  upon  the  gold. 

Dead  seemed  their  hands,  save  when  the  harps  they 

smote 

And  made  accord  of  one  perpetual  note. 
The  entrance  of  a  living  spirit  there 
Gave  a  quick  motion  to  the  torpid  air, 
Startled  the  light  with  shadow,  and  breathed  out 
Keen  earthly  odors  ;  yet  of  dread  or  doubt 
Among  the  myriad  myriads  was  no  sign. 
A  listless  wonder  woke  in  souls  supine, 
But  made  no  speech,  for  consciousness  was  numb, 
Save  to  the  awful  voice  of  what  must  come, 
As  on  dead  continents  the  live  sea's  roar: 
"  Forevermore  !     Forevermore  !  " 

PRINCE   DEUKALION 

Angels,  a  moment  stay 
Your  heavenly  errands,  and  betray 


SCENE  IV.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  281 

What  nature,  beautiful  and  dim, 
As  in  some  twilight  dream  of  power 

Is  born  for  one  bright  hour, 

Ye  have  received  ,from  Him  ! 

Shorn  of  all  kin  are  ye, 

Companionless,  unwed 
With  primal  mortals,  loveless,  passion-free, 

Not  living,  neither  dead  ! 
Declare  me  this  : 

Is  it  your  only  bliss 

To  sail,  soft-shining,  with  your  wings  outspread  ? 
To  cheat  the  ecstacy  ye  cannot  share, 

With  apparitions  fair  ? 

To  give  each  holy  dream 

Its  warranty  supreme, 
The  palm  to  promise,  and  the  lily  bear  ? 

ANGELS. 

We  cannot  know  : 
We  are  the  feather,  His  the  breath  to  blow. 

Though  human  yearning  mould 
Our  passive  being,  we  are  cold. 

Pity,  to  eyes  that  mourn  ; 

Passion,  to  hearts  that  burn  ; 

Reward,  to  lives  that  dare  ; 

Salvation,  unto  prayer,  — 
What  face  men  look  for,  such  we  wear  ! 
Unborn,  we  have  no  destiny, 
Nor  other  being  than  to  be  ; 

Nor  service,  but  to  soar 
'Twixt  One  Adored  and  many  that  adore. 

What  should  we  further  tell  ? 
Thou  hast  no  message  :  so  farewell  ! 


282  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acr  III. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

But  ye,  Transfigured,  whose  denial 

Endured  the  life-long  trial,  - 
Pure  souls,  whose  only  human  terror 

Made  Thought  an  ambushed  error,  — 
Who  now  possess,  secure  from  losing, 

The  bliss  of  your  own  choosing, 
Speak,  are  there  needs  ye  here  have  sighed  for, 

More  than  on  earth  ye  died  for  ? 

SPIRITS. 

Is  it  permitted  ? 

PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

I  am  here. 

SPIRITS. 

We  tremble,  yet  we  must  not  fear. 
The  bright  temptation  of  thy  brow 
We  once  resisted,  conquers  now  ; 
But  thought  unused  and  voice  unheard 
Deny  us  the  consenting  word. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Look  on  me,  and  it  shall  be  given  ! 

SPIRITS. 

O  joy  !  O  pain  ! 
As  leaves  from  autumn  boughs  are  dm 

At  last,  at  last, 
Thy  will  hath  torn  us  from  our  Past, 

And  half  we  live  again  ! 
Yea,  here  is  glory,  here  is  bliss, 
Arms  that  sustain  us,  lips  that  kiss, 
And  rest,  and  peace,  and  pain's  rev 


SCENE  IV.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  283 

In  that  pure  light  which  seems  the  Lord  ; 
But  —  bliss  without  endeavor, 

And  lips  that  cannot  part ; 
And  rest  that  sleeps  forever 

In  each  immortal  heart ; 
And  light  whose  splendor  hideth 

The  Face  we  burn  to  see  — 
What  is  it  that  divideth 

Eternity  and  thee  ? 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

I  am  eternal,  even  as  ye. 

But  your  concealed,  undying  woe 

Is  this  :  ye  have  not  sought  to  know. 

SPIRITS. 

We  did  obey. 

PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

But  whom,  ye  may  not  say. 
Have  ye  beheld  Him  ? 

SPIRITS. 

Nay. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Once  more  upon  Him  call : 
Uplift  awakened  eyes  ! 
Though  falling  as  ye  fall, 
He  rises  as  ye  rise. 

SPIRITS. 

His  Will  in  dreams  we  saw, 
And  left  unlearned  His  guiding  law ; 
We  forced  our  lives  to  crave, 


284  PRINCE  DEUCALION.  [ACT  III. 

Through  bondage,  what  His  freedom  gave  ; 

Till,  having  fondly  wrought, 
We  own  the  Paradise  we  sought, — 

Self-bound,  and  over-blessed 
With  endless  weariness  of  rest  ! 


One  multitudinous  sigh  was  breathed  along 

The  golden  avenues,  and  shook  the  song  : 

But  far  aloft  they  heard  a  trumpet  blown, 

And  keen  white  splendor  gathered  round  the  Throne. 

Then  slowly  up  the  ether-darkened  blue 

The  meads  and  hills  and  battlements  withdrew, 

Till  all  the  sphere  became  a  silvery  moon, 

With  ever-lessening  disk,  and  star-like- soon, 

And  faded  out :  but  in  the  hollow  space 

All  suns  and  planets  kept  their  ancient  place. 


SCENE  V. 

A  wide  plain,  uninhabited,  dotted  with  ancient  mounds.  EPI- 
METHEUS,  seated  on  a  fallen  pillar,  at  the  doorway  of  a  half- 
exhumed  palace,  with  a  broken  tablet  in  his  hand. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

It  is  the  speech  I  heard  but  yesterday, 
When  all  this  buried  pomp  stood  bright  in  air, 
Terrace  on  terrace,  till  the  topmost  seemed 
Fit  for  the  feet  of  some  descending  God, 
While  bannered  masts  and  galleries  of  sound 
Hailed  him,  invisible  ;  and  whispered  words 
To  consecrated  ears,  these  tablets  bore  ; 
And  the  wide  shadow  of  this  power  was  thrown 
O'er  half  the  world.     What  said  Prometheus  then, 


SCENE  V.]          PRINCE  DEUKALION.  285 

When,  groping  first  on  fields  of  unblown  mist, 
I  sought  to  hold  the  ever- vanishing  forms 
With  stable  vision  ?  —  "  'T  is  the  Future's  gift, 
To  know  the  Past !  " 

Yet  I  had  mused,  not  slept, 
Through  weary  ages  :  't  was  alone  their  dust 
That  made  me  seem  so  hoary.     Action,  now, 
And  waxing  knowledge,  destiny  fulfilled, 
Restore  the  ardors  of  Titanic  youth. 
Though  lost  the  primal  struggle,  lost  the  joy 
That  even  defeat  to  high  defiance  yields, 
I  am  at  last  a  Power,  and  challenge  Powers,  — 
A  truth,  and  thus  a  terror  !     In  my  veins 
Burns  eager  blood  ;  I  know  my  brow  is  fair, 
My  voice  hath  music,  and  the  ears  of  men 
Perforce  must  hearken,  as  I  tell  the  tale 
Of  ever  older  and  of  mightier  Pasts, 
Lost  tongues  and  sacred  secrets,  stolen  faiths, 
Perverted  symbols,  and  the  favor  shed  — 
One  tribe  usurped  —  upon  the  Chosen  All ! 
(Enter  URANIA.) 

URANIA. 

What  doest  thou  here  ? 

EPIMETHEUS. 

I  triumph  ! 


URANIA. 

Wherefore  now, 


More  than  erewhile  ? 


EPIMETHEUS. 

I  have  remembered  that 
Forgotten,  when  I  saw  nor  understood  ; 
And  now  remembered  since  I  know. 


286  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  III. 

FRANIA. 
( Taking  up  a  handful  of  dtist.) 

And  I 

Have  found  in  this  the  secret  of  all  worlds. 
Thy  Past  ?    I  know  no  Past !    Thou  dream'st  of  time,  — 
It  is  not,  was  not  !     Nothing  is,  save  Law. 
Thy  feet  are  on  my  paths  :  not  heeding  them 
I  guided  thee,  yet  in  so  much  of  power 
As  may  be  given  thee,  more  of  freedom  lies 
For  them  that  follow  me  and  cannot  turn. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Proud  wast  thou  ever. 

URANIA. 

Proud,  because  assailed, 
As  who,  with  full  hands  bearing  gifts,  is  spurned. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Yet  pause  !     I  am  no  longer  slack  of  thought : 
I  know  thy  being.     Though  I  give  return 
Of  needed  help,  the  will  which  sent  me  forth 
Hath  still  some  ancient  empire  over  thee. 

URANIA. 

Yea,  thou  art  wakened  !     Why  should  I  conceal 
From  thee,  thus  proud,  associate  soon  with  him, 
Thy  brother,  whose  large  vision  moves  with  mine, 
The  ultimate  barrier  where  I  needs  must  pause  ? 
But  thou,  and  every  Titan  yoked  with  thee, 
And  every  track  that  other  knowledge  treads, 
And  all  the  visions  unto  Faith  allowed, 
Reach  not  so  far  :  what  matter  if  I  halt, 
Not  impotent,  where  no  disturbance  comes 
To  vex  me,  resting  but  a  little  while  ? 


SCENE  V.]         PRIATCE  DEUKALION.  287 

Push  back  that  point  where  thou  rememberest  not 
Through  countless  aeons,  still  thou  find'st  my  trail  ! 
Grasp  thou  the  seeds  of  life  in  sun  and  star, 
And  sink  then,  fainting,  where  I  stand  and  smile  ! 
'T  is  not  subjection,  but  a  limit,  rules  : 
My  work  is  baffled  since  I  could  not  give 
The  primal  impulse. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

Neither  thou,  nor  he, 
Prometheus  ! 

URANIA. 

Cease  !  —  thy  words  renew  the  chill 
That  seizes  me  at  each  new  victory. 
The  cry  of  old  affections  shakes  my  hand ; 
The  gush  of  human  heart's-blood  comes  to  dim 
My  crystal  eyesight ;  and  a  something  lost, 
Because  unsought,  perchance  unsearchable, — 
Unknown,  because  unknowable  to  sense,  — 
Assails  my  right. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

There  is  no  enmity 

Where  neither  can  be  lord  :  do  thou  thy  task, 
I  mine,  and  each  eternal  Force  its  own  ! 


SCENE  VI. 

The  shore  of  the  open  ocean:  morning. 
PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Thou  lookest  eastward,  past  the  gem-like  round, 
The  sky  of  opal  and  the  sea  of  pearl : 


288  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  III. 

I  surely  misinterpret  not  thy  hope, 
Or  is  't  thy  longing  ? 

PYRRHA. 

Say,  my  haughty  faith, 
That  will  not  pray  for  what  it  must  expect. 
Once  have  I  called  on  Eos,  but  I  call 
No  more  :  the  silver  echo  of  her  words 
Repeats  itself  within  me,  as  their  vows 
To  happy  lovers.     Thus  it  was  she  spake  : 
"  Faith,  when  none  believe, 

Truth,  when  all  deceive, 

Freedom,  when  force  restrains, 

Courage  to  sunder  chains, 

Pride,  when  good  is  shame, 

Love,  when  love  is  blame,  — 
These  shall  call  me  in  stars  and  flame  !  " 
Thence  call  I  not ;  but,  yonder,  as  I  gaze, 
The  twin  stars,  visible  no  more  to  sense, 
Glimmer,  the  phantoms  of  her  eyes  ;  the  red, 
Now  fading,  is  her  cheek's  immortal  flush, 
And  the  loose  golden  opulence  of  her  hair 
These  clouds  untangle. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Here  her  face  revealed 

Would  doubly  promise,  as  the  mirroring  wave 
Doubled  her  loveliness.     The  conquering  Gods 
Made  too  much  haste  to  seize  a  mountain-throne  : 
This  were  their  seat ;  but  old  Poseidon  took 
The  realm  that  should  be  Jove's,  where,  set  between 
The  unknown  silence  and  the  noise  of  earth, 
Are  too  pure  elements,  pavement  and  dome. 
Here  glimpse  upon  the  soul  imagined  shores  ; 
Here  Fancy  out  of  changeful  air  may  build 


SCENE  VI.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  289 

Her  far-off  palaces  ;  yet  what  of  truth, 
Accepted  fate  or  world-defying  will 
Exists,  confirms  as  well  its  being,  here. 
Time  is  the  billow,  Destiny  the  shore. 

PYRRHA. 

Deukalion  !     Seest  thou  naught  ? 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

I  see  the  gray 

Of  waves  that  first  shall  darken  to  the  sun  ; 
The  distance,  where  no  separating  line 
Cuts  the  soft  web  of  sky-inwoven  sea  ; 
And  all  the  dipping  rondure  of  the  world 
Beneath  it,  where  the  mighty  Day  looks  down, 
Or  sadly  lingers  for  the  word  and  deed 
Undone,  unspoken  ! 

PYRRHA. 

Ah  !  as  out  of  air 

It  suddenly  grew,  I  see  a  glorious  barque 
With  bellied  canvas  of  the  morning  cloud, 
The  cordage  of  translucent  vapor  spun, 
The  hull  a  curve  of  sea-foam,  foamlessly 
Borne  onward,  silent,  with  unruffled  prow 
Approaching  us  !     Two  forms  direct  her  speed, 
And  cither's  arm  is  on  the  other's  neck, 
And  locks  of  gray  and  gold  are  mixed  above 
Their  equal  brows.     Thou  hast  not  called  them? 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Nay, 

And  yet,  beholding  not,  I  know  the  twain. 
Oh,  come  ye  hither  from  the  unmeasured  Deep, 
And  not  from  Hades  ?     Come  ye  with  the  morn, 
19 


290  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acx  III. 

Unsummoned,  though  the  morning's  goddess  fail  ? 
Come  ye,  at  last,  whose  birth  reversed  your  fates, 
United,  one  in  knowledge,  one  in  power? 
Father,  and  thou,  alike  a  father,  hail ! 

(PROMETHEUS  and  EPIMETHEUS  appear.} 

PROMETHEUS. 

What  language  hath,  to-day,  the  sea, 

To  chill,  inspire  or  menace  thee  ? 

What  eager  hope  or  spleen  forlorn 

Blew  on  thee  through  the  gates  of  morn  ?  — 

Or  were  thy  power  and  purpose  dumb 

To  speak  our  coming,  ere  we  come  ? 

PYRRHA. 

Not  in  dejection  did  we  brood, 
Hearkening  the  many  voices  of  the  sea. 

But  for  the  scattered  spirits  free 
Which  lure,  yet  mock,  the  captive  multitude ; 

And  for  these  last,  who  yet 
Can  neither  learn  new  things,  nor  old  forget  ; 

And  to  fulfil  thy  plan 
That  woman  shall  be  woman,  man  be  man, 

We  pondered,  here  apart, 
One  wisdom  for  the  brain  and  heart  ! 

PRINCE    DEUKALION. 

Not  in  dejection,  no  !  —  while  every  Force, 
Once  idle,  formless,  unto  Man  becomes 
A  god  to  labor  and  a  child  to  guide  ; 
While  Space,  obstructing  human  will  no  more, 
Makes  Time  a  tenfold  ally  ;  while  the  draught 
Of  knowledge,  once  a  costly  cup,  invites 
Free  as  the  wayside  brook  to  whoso  thirsts, 
And  aspiration,  trying  lonely  wings, 


SCENE  VI.]         PRINCE  DEUKALION.  291 

Escapes  the  ancient  arrow  !     These  are  gains 

We  cannot  lose  ;  but  what  new  justice  comes 

With  them,  to  right  Earth's  everlasting  wrong  ? 

The  weariness  of  work  that  never  sees 

Its  consequence  ;  chances  of  joy  denied 

To  noble  natures,  prodigal  for  mean  ; 

Helpless  inheritance  of  want  and  crime  ; 

The  simplest  duties  never  owned  untaught, 

The  highest  marred  by  holy  ignorance  ; 

Crowned  Self,  that  with  his  impudent  hollow  words, 

Is  noisiest,  and  Vanity  that  deems 

His  home  the  universe,  his  day  all  time  ! 

PROMETHEUS. 

These  are,  and  they  shall  be  ; 
Nor  less,  though  thine  impatience  fret. 
Man  is  a  child  upon  thy  knee, 

And  earth  his  cradle  yet. 
Unto  thy  voice  his  quickening  ears 

Open  a  little  space, 
Till,  taught  by  dreams  of  countless  years, 

His  eyes  shall  know  thy  face. 

PYRRHA. 

I  stand  as  one  that  after  darkness  feels 

The  twilight :  all  the  air  is  promise-flushed, 

Yet  strangely  chill,  and  though  the  sense  delight 

In  sweet  deliverance,  something  in  the  blood 

Cries  for  the  sun.     Ye  know,  who  set  my  work, 

It  is  no  selfish  passion.     Shorn  are  they, 

And  by  the  fondest  fate,  of  action's  crown, 

My  daughters,  —  so,  denied  their  part 

In  old  divinity  and  balanced  right 

Of  man's  prone  worship,  losing  thence 

Some  honor  Time  is  ignorant  to  restore, 


292  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  III. 

They  need  their  equal  half  of  all  there  is, 
Uniting,  not  dividing,  Life.     Who  twains 
What  once  was  one,  makes  both  more  grandly  one ; 
Or  thou  and  I,  Deukalion,  could  not  be  ! 

PROMETHEUS. 

Now  should  Pandora  speak  ! 
Withdrawn  the  demigoddess  sits, 
And  silent,  yet  there  flits 
A  flush  across  her  cheek, 
A  soft  light  o'er  her  eye, 
And  half  her  proud  lips  smile  : 
Unto  thy  hope,  the  while, 
Be  this  enough  reply  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

( To  EPIMETHEUS.) 
What  bear'st  thou  from  thine  East  ? 

EPIMETHEUS. 

The  living  Past 

That  from  its  grave  my  former  being  caught, 
And  left  me  youth. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Which,  backward  sent 

To  Man's  dim  childhood,  where  thy  memory  dies, 
Foresees  with  me. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

And  active  even  as  thou  ! 

I  bring  dread  knowledge  :  change  and  overthrow, 
Despair  of  creeds,  and  shaking  of  the  shrines, 
And  fruitless  building  till  the  Builder  come, 
Are  in  my  hands.     The  Gods  of  races  I 


SCENE  VI.]          PRINCE  DEUKALION,  293 

Unseat,  as  Time  or  Tyranny  of  old 
Unseated  them,  by  one  subversive  lore 
Of  equal  truth  revealed  to  them  that  seek, 
None  self-elected  as  depositors, 
But  His  eternal  Covenant  with  Life 
For  all,  forever ! 

PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

Who  shall  teach  that  lore  ? 

PROMETHEUS. 

Its  whisper  now  sets  every  wind  of  earth 
Vibrating  :  hearken,  here  !  —  the  subtle  sea 
Hath  learned  it  from  the  happier  stars,  and  bears 
The  message  to  his  loneliest  isles  ;  the  buds 
Expand  it  in  their  blossoms  ;  helpless  souls 
Discover  it  and  rejoice,  forebode  and  flee. 
Truth  gathers  being  as  the  fire  in  air, 
Until,  surcharged,  it  drops  a  blazing  bolt 
And  speaks  in  thunder. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Who  shall  hurl  those  thrones, 
Untenanted,  beside  all  wrecks  of  Power, 
And  dwell  above  them,  that  mankind  may  rise  ? 

PROMETHEUS. 

He  is  unknown. 

ECHOES. 

Unknown  !  —  yet  known. 

PROMETHEUS. 

He  is  alone. 

ECHOES. 

Alone  !  —  yet  with  His  Own. 


ACT   IV. 

SCENE  I. 

A  vast  flowery  meadow :  the  sea,  cities  and  mountains  in  the 
distance. 

AGATHON   (a  child). 
(Solus.) 

SOULS  know  their  errands,  —yet  must  live, 
Ere  speaking,  all  the  truth  they  give. 
Sad  must  their  brooding  childhood  be 
Who  teach  the  old  captivity, 
And  ah  !  how  sad,  perplexed  and  strange 
Is  theirs  who  see,  but  cannot  change  ; 
How  dark  who  build  not,  yet  destroy,  — 
But  mine,  at  last,  but  mine  is  joy  ! 

No  herald  star  announced  my  birth  ; 
Men  know  not  that  I  tread  the  earth ; 
I  fashion  not  the  doves  of  clay 
That,  when  I  bid  them,  soar  away; 
Nor  twine  the  rose,  in  sportive  need 
To  make  prophetic  temples  bleed  ; 
Nor  look,  from  eyes  of  early  woe, 
The  agony  I  shall  not  know  ! 
O  Purest,  Holiest !  —  not  thy  path 
'Twixt  tortured  love  and  ancient  wrath 
Is  mine  to  follow  :  none  again 
Wins  thy  beatitude  of  pain  : 


SCENE  L]  PRINCE  D&UKALION.  295 

But  all  the  glory  of  the  Day, 
All  beauty  near  or  far  away, 
All  bliss  of  life  that,  born  within, 
Makes  quick  forgetfulness  of  sin, 
Attend  me,  and  through  me  express 
The  meaning  of  their  loveliness. 

Yonder,  the  weary,  longing  race 

Conjecture  my  maturer  face, 

Nor  dream  the  child's  —  when  they  behold 

Beneath  its  locks  of  sunburnt  gold  — 

That  only  says  :  "  My  life  is  sweet ; 

The  crisp,  cool  grasses  love  my  feet ; 

The  lulling  air  my  body  takes 

To  slumber,  and  the  wave  awakes  ; 

And  pleasure  comes  from  soil  and  flower, 

And  out  of  lightning  falls  a  power, 

And  from  the  breath  of  ancient  trees 

The  vigor  that  enriches  ease, 

And  from  the  mountain-haunted  skies 

The  will  that  ruins,  save  it  rise  !  " 

Be  the  white  wings  of  Duty  furled 

To-day,  and  let  me  own  the  world  !  — 

The  azure  flag-flower  basks  in  heat, 

Yet  cools,  below,  her  plashy  feet ; 

The  footsteps  of  the  breezes  pass 

In  shadow-ripples  down  the  grass, 

And  glimmers,  where  the  pool  is  thin, 

The  slide  of  many  a  silver  fin. 

Beam  on  my  bosom,  warmth  divine, 

Until  its  pulsing  currents  shine 

Like  yonder  river's  !  —  pour  the  flame 

Of  supple  life  through  all  my  frame, 

Till  consciousness  of  beauty  there 

Gives  me  the  glory  I  should  wear  ! 


296  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  IV. 

My  limbs  shall  float,  my  motions  be 
Each  a  new  change  of  ecstasy, 
Nor  shall  I  breathe  except  to  know 
What  savors  the  swift  airs  bestow, 
While  pure,  as  when  its  beats  began,, 
The  heart  to  music  builds  the  man  ! 

I  know  I  AM,  —  that  simplest  bliss 

The  millions  of  my  brothers  miss. 

I  know  the  fortune  to  be  born, 

Even  to  the  meanest  wretch  they  scorn  ; 

What  mingled  seeds  of  life  are  sown 

Broadcast,  as  by  a  hand  unknown, 

(A  Demon's  or  a  child-god's  way 

To  scatter  fates  in  wilful  play  !)  — 

What  need  of  suffering  precedes 

All  deeper  wisdom,  nobler  deeds  ; 

And  how  man's  soul  may  only  rise 

By  something  stern  that  purifies. 

But  here  I  gather,  ere  my  hour 

Shall  call,  the  fresh,  untainted  power 

Of  Nature,  half  our  mother  yet, 

And  angry  when  her  sons  forget. 

Far  as  the  living  ether  bends 

My  being  through  her  own  extends  ; 

Free  as  a  bird's  to  sink  and  soar 

O'er  meadow,  mountain,  sea  and  shore  ; 

One  with  the  happy  lives  that  breed 

Their  like  in  spawn,  and  egg,  and  seed ; 

One  with  the  careless  motes  that  stray 

To  gather  gold  for  dying  day, 

And  with  the  dainty  sorcery 

Of  odors  blown  far  out  to  sea, 

That  say  to  mariners  on  the  wing  : 

The  unseen  earth  is  blossoming  ! 


SCENE  II.]         PRINCE  DEUKALION.  297 

But  farther,  finer,  airier  yet 
A  soul  may  spin  its  mystic  net, 
And,  with  unconscious  heart-beat  sped 
Vibrating  on  each  gossamer  thread, 
Declare  itself  and  all  it  gives, 
Though,  speaking  not,  it  simply  lives  ! 


SCENE   II. 

The  interior  of  a  spacious  church,  as  in  Act  III.,  Scene  III. 
Noon :  the  ^vindows  are  open,  and  the  nave  is  filled  with  sun 
shine.  URANIA,  slowly  pacing  down  the  main  aisle. 

URANIA. 

An  added  step,  and  these  groined  arches  fall ! 

The  mine  beneath  the  fortress  of  my  foe 

Is  dug,  the  fuse  is  laid,  and  only  fails 

One  spark  of  fire,  but  such  as  must  be  stolen 

Elsewhere  than  from  mine  atoms.     How,  save  I, 

Myself,  create,  shall  I  creation  solve  ? 

Exalted  thus,  and  throned  on  rigid  Law, 

That  bids  a  million  universes  whirl 

In  the  inconceivable  Immensity,  — 

Earth  but  a  mote,  and  all  humanity 

Its  faint  result,  —  shall  I  admit  desire 

As  cause,  not  sequence,  fondest  dreams  as  fact, 

And  vast  inflation  of  the  vapory  Self 

Beyond  all  spheres  of  sense  ?     With  my  large  scheme 

This  last  breathes  interference  :  unto  me 

Myself  suffices  :  no  fond  paramour 

Shall  woo  me  for  my  beauty,  save  as  truth 

Makes  beautiful,  or  knowledge  stands  for  love. 

Men's  minds  grow  wider  :  my  serener  light 

Probes  the  dark  closets  of  the  mystic  Past, 


298  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acx  IV. 

And  many  a  bat-like  phantom,  blinded,  shrieks 
For  the  last  time,  and  dies  :  yet  —  one  more  step, 
The  final  one,  awaits  me. 


AGATHON. 
(Appearing  from  behind  the  altar. ) 

Yea,  and  that 
Thou  canst  not  take. 

URANIA. 

What  hinders  me  ?  —  speak  on  ! 

AGATHON. 

Then  thou  wert  God  ! 

URANIA. 

The  Cause  ?  the  first  impelling  Force  ? 
The  Ages  yet  may  make  me  so. 

AGATHON. 

And  Man, 

Who,  knowing  thee,  is  everything  thou  art, 
Shall  find  himself  created  by  his  will, 
And  all  his  faith  in  one  advancing  life 
Through  fairer  spheres  is  thine  in  being  his  ! 
Almighty  Love,  lord  of  intelligence, 
Anointed  Prophet  of  Eternity, 
Lives,  even  as  thou. 


Prohibits. 


URANIA. 

And  dies,  when  thwarted  law 

AGATHON. 

Nay  !  — not  dies,  howe'er  obscured 


SCENE  II.]         PRINCE  DEUKALION.  299 

Or  mutilate,  —  not  dies,  in  that  dense  dark 
Where  thou  art  impotent,  but  is  the  ray 
That  guides  men  to  thy  feet  and  far  beyond  ! 

URANIA. 

I  know  thou  canst  not  be  mine  enemy  ; 
Yet  why,  to  flatter  life,  wilt  thou  repeat 
The  unproven  solace  ? 

AGATHON. 

Proven  by  its  need  !  — 
By  fates  so  large  no  fortune  can  fulfil ; 
By  wrong  no  earthly  justice  can  atone  ; 
By  promises  of  love  that  keep  love  pure  ; 
And  all  rich  instincts,  powerless  of  aim, 
Save  chance,  and  time,  and  aspiration  wed 
To  freer  forces,  follow  !     By  the  trust 
Of  the  chilled  Good  that  at  life's  very  end 
Puts  forth  a  root,  and  feels  its  blossom  sure  ! 
Yea,  by  thy  law  !  —  since  every  being  holds 
Its  final  purpose  in  the  primal  cell, 
And  here  the  radiant  destiny  o'erflows 
Its  visible  bounds,  enlarges  what  it  took 
From  sources  past  discovery,  and  predicts 
No  end,  or,  if  an  end,  the  end  of  all  ! 

URANIA. 

I  know  this  dialect,  so  many  strive 
To  make  it  mine,  or  bend  my  tongue  thereto. 
Let  there  be  truce  while  perfect  knowledge  waits  ! 
Here  cometh  one  whom  I  must  serve,  —  and  thou, 
If  thou  wouldst  live. 

(Enter  PRINCE  DEUKALION.) 

AGATHON. 

My  father  ! 


300  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  IV. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Have  I,  then, 

In  some  exalted  trance  begotten  thee  ?  — 
Ah,  not  from  her  who  only  should  have  nursed 
Thy  babyhood,  —  our  race  is  yet  to  come. 
Thou  hast  my  features,  and  from  heart  and  lip, 
As  thus  I  hold  them  swiftly  unto  mine, 
Flows  sweetness  ;  and  the  light  in  thy  young  eyes 
Is  as  a  hope  within  me. 

AGATHON. 

And  my  work 

Shall  bring  me  nearer,  since,  if  thou  wert  not, 
I  could  not  be  !     My  hands  are  tender  yet, 
My  feet  too  lightly  borne,  my  soul  alive 
With  too  much  joy  :   I  feel,  but  cannot  teach, 
And  wander,  guided  by  a  shaft  of  light 
That  shall  illumine  knowledge  as  I  need. 
Whither,  I  question  not :   I  only  know 
It  touches  thee,  or  thy  far  phantasm  set 
Where  fades  from  earth  the  beam,  so  linking  us 
In  one  design.     The  first  art  thou  to  know, 
The  first  to  love  me,  —  and  wouldst  first  command  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

I  have  awaited  thee  a  thousand  years. 

AGATHON. 

I  waited  for  my  time. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Our  blood  thou  hast : 

So  might  Prometheus  speak.     But  wilt  thou,  here 
Where  gray  Tradition  hews  each  separate  stone, 
And  vainly  gropes  decrepit  Faith  to  clutch 


SCENE  II.]         PRINCE  DEUKALION.  3O1 

The  outflown  Deity,  transform  the  shrine 
Where  He,  so  starved  by  penance,  comes  no  more, 
But  elsewhere  stays  until  His  feast  be  spread  ? 
Some  natural  odor  of  the  happy  earth 
Breaks  in  with  thee  :  the  arches  clasp  above 
With  leafy  lightness  of  the  summer  boughs  : 
The  oriel  drops  rose-leaves,  and  the  font, 
Bubbling  and  brightening  with  an  inward  life, 
Spins  up  in  silver,  tinkling  as  it  falls. 
What  hast  thou  done  ? 

AGATHON. 

At  first  I  took  away 

The  High-Priest's  mitre,  long  since  threadbare  grown, 
Eaten  by  moths,  dust-soiled  and  shapeless.     He, 
As  one  forgetful,  sought,  then  seemed  to  wear, 
And  with  a  customed  hand  to  set  aright,  — 
Then  missed,  forgot  again.     His  ephod,  next, 
Of  fine-twined  linen,  scarlet,  blue  and  gold, 
The  girdle  and  the  breast-plate  of  the  tribes, 
I  hid  from  further  use,  — a  sorer  loss, 
Awhile  in  his  bewildered  looks  betrayed 
And  halting  speech  ;  but  now  he  scarce  recalls 
That  such  things  were  nor  could  be  otherwise. 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

What  next  ? 

AGATHON. 

What  still  remains  ;  and  —  now  —  I  do  ! 
(AGATHON  removes  the  tablet  with  the  rayed  triangle,  takes  the 
Ark  of  the  Covenant  from  the  top  of  the  altar,  and  conceals 
them.} 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

The  Cross  endures. 


302  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acr  IV. 

AGATHON. 

Till  some  diviner  type 

Of  man  that  loves  and  gives  himself  for  men, 
Shall  plant  his  emblem  ! 


PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

O'er  it,  set  a  star,  — 
Beneath,  a  sphere  ! 

AGATHON. 

Man  must  invent  his  own  ; 
And  this,  that  his  far  memory  antedates,  — 
Descended  with  him  from  the  world's  cold  roof, 
Where,  past  the  Indian  peaks,  on  high  Pamere 
His  race  was  cradled,  — from  a  single  death 
Took  sanctity  forever  !     Whether  mine 
Be  star  or  sphere,  it  is  not  mine  to  choose  ; 
For  I  must  pass  ere  I  am  known  of  men, 
Who  seeing,  hearing,  loving  me,  perchance, 
Behold  the  brother,  not  the  future  god  ! 

\Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. 

The  coitrt  of  a  grand,  dusky  temple,  with  beams  as  of  cedar- 
wood,  supported  by  gilded  pillars.  At  the  farther  end,  a 
veil,  through  which  sculptured  cherubim  are  indistinctly  seen. 
On  each  side  are  thrones,  overlaid  with  gold,  set  in  the  in 
terspaces  of  the  colonnades. 

PROMETHEUS    (solus}. 

The  sportive  genii  of  illusive  form, 

Of  hidden  color  and  divided  ray, 

Have  built  me  this,  the  ampler  counterfeit 

Of  thine,  O  Solomon  !  that  lifted  up 


SCENE  III.]       PRINCE  DEUKALION* 303 

Moriah  into  flashing  pinnacles, 

And  spoiled  umbrageous  Lebanon  to 

Its  courts  with  cedar  !     Less  than  air 

The  ghost  of  thy  barbaric  fane,  yet  me 

To  hold  the  ghosts  that  deem  themselves  alive,          ~O  /» 

As  in  a  truce  of  spirit,  when  the  Dead 

Float  gray  and  moth-like  through  their  wonted  room$,f  fa       * 

Are  shaped  in  dusky  nooks  to  living  eyes, 

And  send  the  hollow  semblance  of  a  voice 

To  living  ears,  — the  law  that  parts  them  both 

Being  all  inviolate.     Such  unconscious  truce 

I  now  proclaim,  as  ever  in  large  minds 

Holds  back  the  narrower  passion,  and  decides. 

The  conflicts  of  the  earth  must  sometimes  pause, 

Breathless  :  some  hour  of  weariness  must  come 

When  each  fierce  Power  inspects  its  battered  mail, 

The  old  blade  reforges,  or  picks  out  a  new, 

While  measuring  with  a  dim  and  desperate  eye 

The  limbs  of  Man's  new  champion.     Agathon  ! 

Thy  soul  is  yet  outside  the  fiery  lists  : 

The  trumpet  hath  not  called  thee:  as  a  child 

Thou  waitest,  but  the  wisdom  of  a  child 

Must  first  be  spoken.     From  their  seats  of  rule 

I  summon  them  whom  thou  shalt  meet,  —  and  thee  ! 

King  of  the  glorious  reign, 
To  whom  thy  glory  slain 
Returned  for  all  men's  gain,  — 
Queen  of  the  triple  crown, 
Whose  haughty  eyes  look  down 
From  heights  of  old  renown,  — 
Priest,  that  wast  sent  to  be 
Deliverer,  but  mak'st  free 
Only  who  follow  thee,  — 
Muse,  that  hast  grown  so  high 


304  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  IV. 

Through  the  unmeasured  sky, 

Man  knows  thee  but  to  die,  — 

Come,  or  the  phantom  send, 

Commissioned  to  defend  ! 

(The  forms — or  phantasms  —  of  BUDDHA,  MEDUSA,  CAL- 
CHAS  and  URANIA  appear,  and  seat  themselves  upon  opposite 
thrones.  AGATHON  enters  and  advances  to  the  centre  of  the 
temple-court.} 

BUDDHA   (dreamily}. 

Across  my  bliss  of  Self  absorbed  in  All, 
And  only  conscious  as  a  speck  of  dust 
Is  of  its  Earth,  there  creeps  such  faintest  thrill 
As  to  the  lotus-bulb  or  rose's  root 

Strikes  downward  from  the  sweetness  of  the  flower,  — 
The  sign  that  somewhere  in  the  outlived  world 
A  God-selected  soul  is  ripe  to  ask 
A  question  that  compels  reply.     I  wake, 
As  one  that,  hammock-cradled  under  palms 
Beside  a  tropic  river,  drinks  the  breath 
Of  clove  and  cinnamon  orchards,  seaward  blown, 
And  through  the  half- transparence  of  his  lids 
Sees  from  the  golden-gray  of  afternoon 
The  sunset's  amber  flush,  but  never  fade. 
Art  thou,  fair  Boy,  the  questioner  ?     Thine  eyes 
Demand  Life's  secret :  learn  thou  to  renounce, 
And  grow,  renouncing,  sure  of  Deity  ! 

AGATHON. 

But  I  accept,  —  even  all  this  conscious  life 
Gives  in  its  fullest  measure, — gladness,  health, 
Clean  appetite,  and  wholeness  of  my  claim 
To  knowledge,  beauty,  aspiration,  power  ! 
Joy  follows  action,  here  ;  and  action  bliss, 
Hereafter  !     While,  God-lulled,  thy  children  sleep, 


SCENE  III.]       PRINCE  DEUKALION.  3°5 

Mine,  God-aroused,  shall  wake  to  wander  on 
Through  spheres  thy  slumbrous  essence  never  dreamed. 
Thy  highest  is  my  lowest  ! 

MEDUSA. 

So  speaks  Youth, 

That  fans  a  calenture  in  spirits  light  : 
With  such  I  deal  not,  but  its  answering  chill. 
What  refuge  hast  thou  for  the  weary  soul 
That  says  :   "  My  feet  are  bleeding  ;  carry  me, 
And  I  will  serve  thee  "  ?     Fretful  is  the  race, 
And  breaks  its  playthings  like  a  petted  child. 
But,  looking  backward  o'er  the  heritage 
That  makes  me  holy,  thee  nor  like  of  thee 
Do  I  perceive  :  whose  warrant  sent  thee  here  ? 
If  Man's  half-lost  and  consecrated  Past 
Thou  canst  restore,  be  welcome  !  —  otherwise 
New  heresy  and  hate  are  born  of  thee. 
Lo  !  my  commands  are  heard  ;  I  do  not  change  ; 
Nay,  though  the  headlong  world  transform  itself 
And  speak  strange  tongues,  in  me  all  truth  begins, 
In  me  is  finished  ! 

AGATHON. 
(Advancing  to  the  foot  of  MEDUSA'S  throne.} 

Wake,  O  Sorceress, 

Caught  fast  in  thine  own  toils  !     Wash  thy  filmed  eyes 
And  look  around  thee  !     Why,  what  things  are  these  ? 
Terror  is  gone  from  men,  and  Ignorance 
Girds  his  weak  loins,  and  all  usurping  hands 
Of  mediation  grope  for  lost  appeals, 
Since  that  dread  simulacrum  thou  didst  frame 
From  breath  of  prayer,  and  altar-smoke,  and  gold, 
Falls,  and  is  God  no  more  !     A  thousand  years 
Have  passed  since  thou,  in  plenitude  of  power, 
20 


PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  IV. 

Didst  set  thy  house  in  order,  smile  well-pleased, 
And  softly  say  :  "  Now  may  I  sleep  awhile  !  " 
Yea,  though  the  night-lamp  bearing,  thou  hast  walked 
The  chambers  to  and  fro,  't  was  still  in  sleep, 
And  drowsed  from  changes  of  the  sunlit  life 
Outside,  till  all  thy  Past  slid  down,  and  drifts 
Where  now  it  harms  not :  waken,  if  thou  canst ! 

MEDUSA   (starting}. 

What  place  is  this  ?    Who  else  is  throned,  where  I 
Alone  am  crowned  ? 

AGATHON. 

Let  them  declare  ! 

CALCHAS. 

(Lifting  his  hand  mechanically  to  his  brow,  then  suddenly  rec~ 
ollecling.} 

No  crown 

He  needs  to  wear  whom  happy  followers  love  ; 
And  unto  these  have  I  enlarged  my  gifts 
Even  as  their  souls  discovered  and  desired. 
I  hold  them  not  from  seeking,  but  above 
High  wills  and  actions  set  the  highest  Good, 
His  gift,  not  mine.     I  war  but  with  their  pride 
That,  looking  inward,  finds  too  clear  a  light, 
Too  large  a  license,  — looking  upward,  sees 
A  Deity  too  dim  for  mortal  sense. 

AGATHON. 

Nay,  Priest !  —  thou  warrest  with  pure  intelligence 
That  rays  all  whither  from  its  central  flame, 
And  reaches  God  on  Power's  or  Beauty's  side, 
As  on  Devotion's  !     Since  thou  wast  content 
With  One  whose  human  spite  and  jealousy, 


SCENE  III.]       PRINCE  DEUKALIOA?.  307 

Though  veiled  by  later  love,  still  shows  the  badge 
Of  clanship,  men  have  passed  thy  visible  fanes 
To  kneel  in  that  invisible,  whose  wide  walls 
Surround  all  tribes,  all  upward-lifted  lives, 
All  downward  driven  by  ignorance  and  wrong. 
Who  reigns  there  sits  above  thy  reach  of  soul : 
Denial  cannot  'scape  Him,  sacrilege  stray 
Beyond  His  pity,  nor  by  any  path 
The  seeking  spirit  miss  ! 

URANIA. 

Save,  indeed, 

He  be  not  else  than  universal  Force, 
And  all  His  worship  out  of  fibres  born, 
That,  changing  texture,  change  Him  unto  Man. 
What  eye  hath  known  Him  ?     What  fine  instrument 
Hath  found,  as  't  were  a  planet  yet  unseen, 
His  place  among  the  balance  of  the  stars  ? 
But  selfish  fancy  and  insatiate  love, 
Chilled  by  almighty  Law,  demand  to  feel 
A  human  heart-beat  somewhere  in  the  void, 
And  rescue  their  imagined  essences, 
Distinct  and  conscious,  from  eternal  dust ! 

AGATHON. 

That  selfish  fancy  and  insatiate  love 

Are  thine,  not  knowing  !     Thou,  without  thy  will, 

Art  the  most  glorious  of  the  hosts  that  serve, 

Proclaimer  of  the  measureless  scheme  divine 

That  makes  men  tremble  !     In  that  universe 

Thy  lore  hath  found  for  His  activity 

Earth's  petty  creeds  fall  off  as  wintered  leaves, 

When  April  swells  the  bud  of  new.     Men  grow, 

But  not  beyond  their  hearts,  —possess,  enjoy, 

Yet,  being  dependent,  ever  must  believe  ; 


308  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  IV. 

So  with  thy  knowledge  rises  Him  believed, 
Shakes  off  as  rags  what  once  were  holy  names, 
Treads  under  foot  as  crackling  potsherds  all 
The  symbols  of  old  races,  with  one  breath 
Puffs  into  air  defilement  of  their  hates, 
And  stands  alone,  too  awful  to  be  named  ! 
This  is  thy  service. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Hast  thou  aught  to  ask  ? 

AGATHON. 

Verily,  one  seed  is  Truth's ;  but  they  who  clip 
The  sprouting  plant  to  hedge  their  close  domains, 
How  should  they  know  its  grace  of  natural  boughs 
And  blossoms  bursting  to  the  startled  sun  ? 
I  ask  them  naught,  fore-hearing  their  replies. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Forces  that  work,  or  dream ; 
Shadows  that  are,  or  seem  ; 
Whether  your  spell  sublime 
Fades  at  the  touch  of  Time, 
Or  from  the  ages  ye 
Take  loftier  destiny,  — 
I,  of  the  primal  date 
As  of  the  final  fate, 
Having  compelled,  release  : 
Depart,  but  not  in  peace  ! 

( The  four  figures  disappear  from  the  thrones.    PRINCE  DEUKA 
LION  and  PYRRHA  enter  the  court  of  the  temple.} 

PYRRHA. 

O  Son,  thou  last  and  sweetest  hope  for  us, 
Since  men  shall  clasp  thy  truth  in  loving  thee  ; 


SCENE  IV.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  309 

Where  tarriest  thou  ?     The  vault  of  golden  air 
Above  thy  meadows,  knowing  thee  no  more, 
Is  emptied  of  delight :  the  scattered  homes, 
Wherein  thy  face  was  precious,  yearn  and  wait : 
The  cities  and  the  highways  of  the  earth 
That  know  thee  not,  yet  having  seen  thee,  miss, 
Are  calling  on  thy  name.     Lo  !  we  have  sought,  — 
I  and  thy  father,  —  sorrowing,  for  thee. 

AGATHON. 

How  is  it  that  ye  sought  me  ?     Wist  ye  not 
That  I  must  be  about  my  Father's  work  ? 


SCENE  IV. 

A  vast,  natural platform,  thrust  forward  from  the  extremity  of  a 
mountain-chain.  Upon  it  rise  the  unfinished  walls  of  an  edi 
fice,  only  half  the  pillars  of  the  facade  being  lifted  into  place  ; 
yet  every  block  suggests  the  harmony  of  the  complete  design. 
Beyond  it  the  height  falls  away  into  broad  terraces,  the  first 
dotted  with  woods  of  oak  and  chestnut  trees,  those  below  with 
fig,  olive,  and  fields  of  vine,  and  finally  sinking  through 
orange  groves  to  the  palms  and  tamarinds  of  a  great  plain, 
divided  by  an  inlet  of  the  sea.  PROMETHEUS,  PANDORA, 
EPIMETHEUS,  PRINCE  DEUKALION  and  PYRRHA,  on  the 
marble  steps  leading  to  the  portal. 

EPIMETHEUS. 

We  know  ourselves. 

PANDORA. 

And  love  ! 

PROMETHEUS. 

And  work  as  one  ! 


310  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acx  IV. 

Divided  by  the  Gods  that  portioned  out 

Parts  of  a  single  destiny  to  each,  — 

Divided  by  the  darkness  of  the  race 

That  sees  in  fragments,  and  by  highest  Will, 

Forerunning  Time  so  far  with  prophecy 

That  even  hope  grows  faint,  and  faith  benumbed, 

We  stand  united  now  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Thou  in  design, 

We  in  fulfilment ;  what  is  Time,  henceforth  ? 
I  know  thee  as  the  Titan  who  defied 
Man's  violent  Gods,  defending  Man's  own  right, 
And  who,  foreseeing  triumph  in  the  end, 
Hast  never  made  surrender.     What  I  am 
Is  thine  :   I  am  thy  form  of  victory, 
First  kindled  with  the  stolen  fire  of  heaven, 
To  make  all  wisdom,  worship,  power,  faith,  joy, 
And  beauty,  one  ! 

PANDORA. 

And  thou,  my  daughter  pure, 
My  Pyrrha,  fear  not  thou  that  this  shall  be, 
Till  Woman  owns  her  equal  half  of  life, 
And,  following  some  supernal  instinct,  finds 
Her  half  of  Godhead  ! 

PYRRHA. 

'T  is  not  hers  to  doubt. 

PROMETHEUS. 

Once  did  we  walk  the  earth  unseen  ;  but  now 
Men  pause,  and  with  a  holy,  sweet  surmise 
Behold  us  dimly  :  Pyrrha,  Deukalion 
Grow  dear  to  many  an  eye  that  looks  afar, 


SCENE  IV.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  311 

And  vanish  in  the  nearness.     Brother,  thou, 
Whose  mind  reversed  interprets  all  the  Past 
And  so  o'erlooks  the  Future,  even  as  one 
That  scales  a  mount  between  two  mighty  vales,  — 
Who  readest  thus  Faith's  awful  secrets,  — thou 
Art  loved  and  feared  ;  but  still  our  perfect  day 
Sleeps  in  the  womb  of  an  unrisen  morn. 

SHEPHERD. 

(On  the  terrace  below,  singing.) 
Where  the  arch  of  the  rock  is  bended, 

Warm,  and  hid  from  the  dew, 
Slumber  the  sheep  I  tended, 

All  the  sweet  night  through. 
Never  a  wolf  affrights  them 

Here,  in  the  pasture's  peace, 
But  the  tender  grass  delights  them, 

And  the  shadows  cool  their  fleece. 

I  blow,  as  a  downy  feather, 

The  sleep  on  my  eyelids  laid, 
And  rise  in  the  twilight  weather, 

Between  the  glow  and  the  shade. 
Too  blest  the  hour  has  made  me 

For  a  speech  the  tongue  may  know, 
But  my  happy  flute  shall  aid  me, 

And  speak  to  my  love  below  ! 

PROMETHEUS. 

These  simple  lives  may  own  contentment  now, 
Unscared  ;  for  happiness  it  is  that  gives 
Sweet  savor  unto  worship.     Men,  as  trees, 
Take  from  the  elements  their  separate  food 
And  grow  in  concord  with  the  season's  will, — 
Exempt  not  yet,  unsheltered  even  as  these 


312  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  IV. 

From  fated  evils,  gnawing  drouth  at  root, 

Bough-shattering  winds,  the  lightning's  sudden  spear, 

And  blackest  ruin,  when  the  forest's  heart 

Breaks  in  the  vortex  of  the  hurricane  ! 

But  each  discerns  his  place,  or,  failing  it, 

Is  gently  guided,  —  honors,  in  himself, 

Symmetric  health  and  noble  appetites 

He  once  insulted,  —hears  the  choric  chant, 

Unenvious  of  the  singer's  golden  throat, 

And  smiles  when  Genius  speaks,  as  who  should  say  : 

"He  knows  me,  and  his  mighty  words  are  mine." 

SHEPHERDESS. 
(Singing  in  the  valley.} 
Uncover  the  embers  ! 
With  pine-cone  and  myrtle 
My  breath  shall  enkindle 

The  sacred  Fire  ! 
Arise  through  the  stillness 
My  shepherd's  blue  signal, 
And  bear  to  his  mountain 

The  valley's  desire  ! 
The  olive-tree  bendeth  ; 
The  grapes  gather  purple  ; 
The  garden  in  sunshine 

Is  ripe  to  the  core  : 
Then  smile  as  thou  sleepest, 
His  fruit  and  my  blossom  ; 
There  's  peace  in  the  chamber, 

And  song  at  the  door  ! 

PROMETHEUS. 

The  suns  of  milder  centuries  must  gild 

The  snow  of  this  young  marble,  ere  one  block 

Shall  cap  the  pediment,  and  flash  to  heaven 


SCENE  IV.]        PRINCE  DEUKALION.  3*3 

Its  finished  glory  !     Oft  the  laborers 

Shall  pause,  grown  weary  of  the  vast  design  ; 

Oft  shall  old  apathy  return,  old  strife 

Shake  like  a  chained  volcano  'neath  the  sea ; 

But  ere  men  change  it,  every  stone  shall  turn 

To  adamant,  or  rise  by  hands  of  air  ! 

As  from  the  evangels  of  all  races  God 

Begins  to  be,  the  tongues  of  every  race, 

Quiring  a  strain  that  silences  the  stars, 

Alone  can  worship  Him  !     Not  yet  Earth  hears 

More  than  the  quarriers'  and  the  builders'  hymns. 

CHANT. 
(From  the  opposite  side.) 

Fashion  your  chisels  well 
With  the  steel  from  a  hero's  hand, 

Who  conquered,  as  he  fell, 
The  freedom  of  a  land  ! 

Forge,  out  of  chains  that  break, 
Hammers  and  clamps  alone  ; 

And  cut  from  a  martyr's  stake 
A  wand  to  mete  the  stone  ! 

But  sing,  as  ye  work,  a  strain 
Of  joy  and  of  triumph  pure, 

Of  deeds  that  were  not  in  vain, 
And  blessings  that  most  endure,  — 

As  a  hope  and  a  happier  grace 
Round  the  lives  of  duty  poured  ; 

And  the  stone  shall  find  its  place 
In  the  Temple  of  the  Lord  ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Quick,  fiery  thrills,  which  only  are  not  pangs 
Because  so  warm  and  welcome,  pierce  my  frame, 
As  were  its  airy  substance  suddenly 


PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  IV. 

Clothed  on  with  flesh  ;  the  ichor  in  my  veins 
Begins  to  redden  with  the  pulse  of  blood, 
And,  from  the  recognition  of  the  eyes 
That  now  behold  me,  something  I  receive 
Of  Man's  incarnate  beauty.     Thou,  as  well, 
Confessest  this  bright  change  :  across  thy  cheeks 
A  faintest  wild-rose  color  comes  and  goes, 
And,  on  thy  proud  lips,  Pyrrha,  sits  a  flame  ! 
Oh,  we  are  nearer  !  —  not  suffice  me  now 
The  touch  of  marble  hands,  reliance  cold, 
And  Destiny's  pale  promises  of  love  ; 
But,  clasping  thee  as  mortal  passion  clasps 
Bosom  to  bosom,  let  my  being  thus 
Assure  itself,  and  thine  ! 

PYRRHA. 

Thine  eyes  compel ; 

Thy  words  are  as  a  wind  that  bends  me  down, 
And  thou  art  beautiful  as  I  to  thee. 
What  holds  me  back  ?     Is  it  that  I  perceive, 
O  Titan  Mother,  thy  reproving  face, 
Immortal  patience  consecrates,  and  haste, 
That  pours  too  soon  the  beaker  of  the  Gods, 
Must  ever  trouble  ?     Aid  me  with  thy  words  ! 

PANDORA. 

Take  counsel  of  thy  heart !     The  Gods  themselves 
Have  seasons  to  rejoice  ;  when  happier  eyes 
Illume  their  ether,  and  unwonted  lips 
Meet,  and  their  large  refreshment  falls  on  men. 
Think  what  thou  art,  then  follow  thy  desire  ! 

(PYRRHA  muses  a  moment,  then  turns  towards  PRINCE  DEU 
KALION.  He  clasps  her  to  his  breast,  and  they  kiss  each 
other.} 


SCENE  V.]         PRINCE  DEUKALION.  3JS 

SCENE  V. 

The  Same. 
SPIRITS    OF   DAWN. 

Hark  !  has  the  Sun-god's  Hour 
Smitten  her  cymbals,  dreaming  him  nigh  ? 
We  are  called  by  a  sound,  and  sped  by  a  power, 

To  break  the  sleep  of  the  sky ! 

^Eolian  echoes  blow 
From  the  fourfold  realms  of  the  air, 
And  a  torch,  not  ours,  with  a  mightier  glow 

Burns  where  the  East  is  bare  ! 

We  hasten,  we  scatter  the  cloud  : 
We  quench  the  beam  of  the  great  white  star ; 

But  the  paean  is  over-loud, 
And  the  splendor  comes  from  afar  1 

It  flushes  our  halls  of  rest, 

As  the  sun  were  a  rose  in  hue, 
And  it  paints  the  Earth,  as  she  bares  her  breast 

To  the  emptied  urns  of  the  dew. 
(Sound  of  JEolian  harps  ;  the  face  of  Eos  appears!) 

EOS. 

Is  this  mine  Earth  ? 

The  many-headlanded,  the  temple-crowned, 
Which  the  great  purple  sea  so  whispered  round, 

When  earlier  Gods  had  birth  ? 

Mine  Earth,  I  loved  so  well, 
Rejoiced  in,  as  it  welcomed  me, 
And  fed  with  unexhausted  hydromel, 

While  the  young  race  was  free  ! 

I  know  its  curving  strands, 
Its  dimpling  hollows,  bosom-budding  hills  ; 
I  scent  large  fragrance  of  the  life  that  fills 


316  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [Acx  IV, 

The  joined  or  parted  lands. 
Old  hopes,  and  sweetest,  burn  again ; 
Old  words  are  stammering  on  my  tongue  : 
Was  it  your  lips  that  kissed,  Immortal  Twain, 
Or  is  Tithonus  young  ? 

PYRRHA. 

As  a  gift  unsought ; 

As  a  joy  unbought ; 

As  a  fair  hope  fed 

From  a  hope  that  is  dead  ; 

As  a  diadem  set 

When  the  brows  forget,  — 

Thou,  the  dearest, 

Uncalled,  appearest ! 

PRINCE   DEUKALION. 

Eyes  of  hope,  and  promise-laden 

Lips,  that  smile  before  they  speak, 
Are  they  thine,  divinest  Maiden, 

Blushing  morning  from  thy  cheek? 
Unto  prayer  thy  face  denying, 
Unto  deed  at  last  replying, 
Linger  near,  and  turn  not  from  us 
Present  bliss  and  holier  promise  ! 

In  the  glory  thou  unfoldest, 

Tranced  with  music  of  thy  tongue, 
Young  is  all  that  once  was  oldest, 

Love  and  Faith  and  Will  are  young  ! 
Stay  with  us  !  —  thy  smile  assuages 
Pangs  bequeathed  by  weary  ages, 
And  thine  eyes  are  sweet  forewarning 
Of  the  world's  eternal  morning  ! 


SCENE  V.]          PRINCE  DEUKALION.  3J7 

GJEA. 

The  blushes  of  thy  cheeks  descend  on  me, 

Thy  glance  is  glorious  upon  my  mountains  : 

I  breathe  in  ampler  wind  and  prouder  sea, 

And  beat,  strong-pulsed,  thro'  mine  unnumbered  fount 


ains. 


Though  filled  with  seeds  of  unimagined  powers, 
I  cannot  spare  my  beauty  :  now,  from  thee 
Fresh  silver  stars  the  dewy-beaded  flowers, 
And  rosy  mists  the  fading  forelands  cover, 
Until,  far  northward,  thou  dost  pour 
The  rainbow's  dust  on  every  ice-built  shore, 
To  make  even  sun-forgetting  Death  thy  lover  ! 

Am  I  not  fair  ?  —  yea,  though  thy  face  should  bow 

Thus  near  and  fond,  and  find  no  child  that  knew  thee : 

But,  having  nursed  Humanity  as  thou, 

I  feel  what  pure,  prophetic  rapture  drew  thee. 

Stay  thou  with  men  ;  take  not  away  thy  hope, 

The  endless  answer  to  an  endless  vow  : 

Touch  only,  here,  the  risen  Temple's  cope, 

And  every  glen  and  darksome  lowland  alley 

Shall  hail  it  as  a  herald  ray, 

And  wait  in  happier  patience  for  the  day 

When  morning's  mountain-gold  shall  flood  the  valley  ! 

EOS. 

Another  must  fulfil : 

I  am  the  promise,  not  the  will. 
Men  dimly  guess,  through  me, 

The  distant  glories  that  may  be, 
Renewed,  as  each  grows  pale 

In  coming,  through  my  roseate  veil. 
But,  seeming  o'erpowered 

When  sunrise  is  strong, 


3l8  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ACT  IV. 

Faith,  Courage,  Devotion, 

My  being  prolong  ! 
I  fade,  for  the  coward  ; 

I  flame,  for  the  bold  ; 
And  noble  emotion 

My  face  shall  behold. 
I  grow  from  their  yearning 

As  they  from  my  vision, — 
No  longer  the  Eos 

Of  spaces  Elysian, 
But  ever  returning 

With  promise  sublime,  — 
First  victor  o'er  Chaos, 

And  last  over  Time  ! 

PYRRHA. 
To  the  gracious  heart  of  Woman  and  the   love  that 

fondly  bends, 
Thou  hast  given  the  juster  manhood  that  shelters  it 

and  defends : 
For  the  Man's  immortal  ardor  and  the  breadth  of  his 

soul's  demand, 
Thou  hast  set  the  woman  beside  him,  and  weaponed 

her  equal  hand ; 

As  the  palm  by  the  palm  in  beauty,  the  female  and  the 

male, 
When  the  south-winds   mix   their  blossoms,  and  the 

date-sheaf  cannot  fail ; 
For  one  is  the  glory  of  either,  since  the  primal  Fate 

began 
To  guide  to  a  single  Future   Earth's   double-natured 

Man! 


SCENE  V.]         PRINCE  DEUKALION.  3*9 

CHORUS. 

(From  the  valleys.} 

Mother,  thy  work  hath  blessed  us  ! 
Honored,  we  wear  thy  cestus  ; 
Honored,  we  lay  it  aside, 
Crowned  with  the  bliss  of  the  bride  ; 
Honored,  we  loose  from  eclipse, 
Unto  the  sweetness  of  lips 
Sweeter  for  innocent  need, 
Moons  of  the  bosoms  that  feed  ! 
Tender,  for  difference'  sake, 
Serve  us  man's  haughtier  powers  ; 
Strength  from  his  being  we  take, 
But  to  restore  it  from  ours  ! 

PRINCE  DEUKALION. 

In  the  kiss  of  our  lips  that  reddened 

With  a  perfect  passion's  dawn, 
Met  the  bliss  pure  women  yearn  for, 
And  the  noble  truth  men  burn  for, 
When  the  youthful  fancy  is  deadened, 

But  the  human  heart  beats  on  ! 

By  the  light  of  the  dawn  within  them 
Their  weakness  my  children  see, 

And  Self  and  its  greeds  are  broken 

By  the  longing  that  dares  be  spoken, 

And  the  warmth  of  the  deeds  that  win  them 
The  courage  to  be  free  ! 

Still  shy  is  the  best  endeavor 

That  hath  set  its  goal  so  high  ; 
But  Good,  when  the  heart  betrays  it, 
And  Love,  by  the  lives  that  praise  it, 


320  PRINCE  DEUKALION.  [ ACT  IV 

Shall  cradle  the  earth  forever 

In  the  arms  of  a  happier  sky ! 

CHORUS. 

(From  the  valleys.} 
We  hear  thee  and  know  thee,  Father  ! 

As  a  flock  the  Shepherd  leads, 
We  follow  to  thy  pastures 

Of  great  and  generous  deeds. 
Though  suns  to  come  may  brand  us 

And  sudden  frosts  may  blight ; 
And  Crime,  the  prowling  were-wolf, 

Steal  on  us  in  the  night ; 
Though  Self,  that  builds  unwearied, 

May  stain  the  purer  will, 
Or  Apathy,  slowly  dying 

Of  his  own  mortal  chill  ; 
Yet  thou  hast  healing  fountains 

Replenished  from  above, 
In  heart,  brain,  soul,  renewing 

The  triple  strength  of  love  ! 
Planted  through  all  the  ages 

Thy  trees  shall  yield  us  food, 
And  goldening  for  our  harvest 

Shall  grow  the  natural  Good  ! 

PROMETHEUS. 

Retrieve  perverted  destiny  ! 
'T  is  this  shall  set  your  children  free. 
The  forces  of  your  race  employ 
To  make  sure  heritage  of  joy  ; 
Yet  feed,  with  every  earthly  sense, 
Its  heavenly  coincidence, — 
That,  as  the  garment  of  an  hour  ; 
This,  as  an  everlasting  power. 


SCENE  V.]          PRINCE  DEUKALION.  321 

For  Life,  whose  source  not  here  began, 

Must  fill  the  utmost  sphere  of  Man, 

And,  so  expanding,  lifted  be 

Along  the  line  of  God's  decree, 

To  find  in  endless  growth  all  good,  — 

In  endless  toil,  beatitude. 

Seek  not  to  know  Him  ;  yet  aspire 

As  atoms  toward  the  central  fire  ! 

Not  lord  of  race  is  He,  afar,  — 

Of  Man,  or  Earth,  or  any  star, 

But  of  the  inconceivable  All ; 

Whence  nothing  that  there  is  can  fall 

Beyond  Him,  —  but  may  nearer  rise, 

Slow-circling  through  eternal  skies. 

His  larger  life  ye  cannot  miss, 

In  gladly,  nobly  using  this. 

Now,  as  a  child  in  April  hours 

Clasps  tight  its  handful  of  first  flowers, 

Homeward,  to  meet  His  purpose,  go  !  — 

These  things  are  all  ye  need  to  know. 


THE   END. 


21 


NOTES. 


THE   PROPHET. 


THE  plan  for  the  Prophet  was  conceived  as  far  back  as 
1866  or  1867.  The  drama  was  not  written,  however,  until 
1873.  A  curious  circumstance  connected  with  it  is,  that  about 
the  same  time  Mr.  T.  B.  Aldrich  had  formed  a  similar  plan 
for  a  drama,  which,  after  having  given  up  all  intention  of 
working  it  out  himself,  he  communicated  to  Bayard  Taylor 
whilst  walking  with  him  one  day  in  the  streets  of  Boston. 
The  latter  at  that  time  had  almost  entirely  completed  his  own 
plan  in  his  mind,  and  was  startled  to  find  that  he  and  his 
friend  had  both  busied  themselves  with  the  same  theme. 

In  1872  he  left  this  country  for  a  stay  of  two  years  in  Eu 
rope.  It  was  meant  for  rest,  after  the  completion  of  his 
Faust-translation  had  made  recreation  from  work  and  study 
necessary  for  him.  But  his  ever  active  brain  would  not  let 
him  rest,  when  he  might  have  done  so.  It  was  one  of  his  sea 
sons  of  song,  over  which,  as  to  time,  he  had  no  control,  and 
the  poetic  faculty  claimed  its  dues.  Hardly  had  he  arrived 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Ocean,  and  refreshed  himself  some 
what  at  the  baths  of  Bormio,  in  the  Italian  Tyrol,  where  he 
was  sent  to  recruit,  when  he  wrote  the  poem  of  "  Lars,"  in  the 
autumn  of  that  year.  The  following  year,  after  exhausting 
literary  labors,  the  plan  for  the  Prophet  presented  itself  again 
to  his  mind,  and  would  not  leave  him  until  it  found  utter 
ance. 

It  was  at  the  end  of  August,  during  a  short  stay  at  Gotha, 
Germany,  that  the  first  scenes  were  written.  In  the  month  of 
September  the  first  Act  was  completed,  and  the  second  Act 


NOTES. 

begun.  Then  came  the  "  Autumn  Days,"  at  Weimar,  in  the 
course  of  which,  during  the  months  of  October  and  Novem 
ber,  the  drama  was  continued.  The  editor  at  that  time  was 
in  almost  daily  correspondence  with  the  poet,  and  was  ena 
bled  by  references  in  his  letters  to  follow  closely  the  growth 
of  the  poem  under  his  pen.  On  October  i8th  he  wrote  :  "  I 
have  nothing  more  to  send  you,  for  I  shall  bring  the  new 
scenes  with  me.  I  write  something,  whether  much  or  little, 
every  day,  and  find  it  the  only  way  to  prevent  the  Goethe-in 
terests  from  interrupting  me.  I  want  to  go  on  with  the  main 
action  while  I  am  possessed  with  it."  So  much,  indeed,  was 
he  possessed  with  his  work,  that  it  went  on  involuntarily  in 
the  midst  of  social  engagements,  researches,  and  visits  paid  to 
neighboring  towns.  On  the  railway  to  Gotha,  on  November 
9th,  the  second  stanza  of  Livia's  song  (Scene  IV.  of  Act  IV.) 
was  composed  and  noted  down  in  pencil.  In  the  middle  of 
October,  after  having  completed  Act  IV.,  he  resolved  not  to 
begin  Act  V.  until  a  week  later,  when  he  expected  to  have  a 
few  quiet  days  at  Gotha.  But  before  getting  there,  on  No 
vember  i8th,  he  wrote  :  "  I  began  Act  V.  last  evening  — 
couldn't,  help  it.  To-day,  D.  V.,  I  shall  finish  Scene  II. 
There  's  no  use  of  waiting,  while  I  am  in  the  humor  to  write." 

The  last  two  scenes  of  the  drama  were  written  during  a 
visit  to  the  editor  at  Leipzig,  on  November  24th  and  25th. 
The  diary  of  the  latter  says  on  the  former  of  these  days  :  "  B. 
came  at  noon,  and  sat  down  at  once  to  write  the  last  scene  but 
one  of  the  Prophet."  On  the  25th  it  says  :  "  He  wrote  the  last 
scene  in  the  forenoon.  It  is  quite  time  the  work  should  cease, 
for  his  nervous  system  has  been  considerably  strained  by  it." 

Whilst  Bayard  Taylor  was  so  intensely  occupied  by  this 
drama  in  Germany,  there  came  a  letter  from  New  York,  writ 
ten  by  his  friend,  Mr.  E.  C.  Stedman,  in  which  literature,  and 
especially  poetry,  were  largely  discussed,  and  wherein  this 
sentence  occurred  :  "  I  strongly  advise  you  to  try  a  dramatic 
poem  on  a  strictly  American  subject."  It  was  just  what  he 
was  then  doing. 

The  subject  of  the  Prophet  is  in  fact  so  thoroughly  Ameri 
can  that  its  realism  has  been  made  a  reproach  by  the  critics. 


NOTES.  327 

We  have  the  farm-life  and  talk  ;  the  camp-meeting  —  so  es 
sentially  American ;  the  religious  element  which,  in  the  ab 
sence  of  other  themes  of  interest  beyond  farm  matters,  enters 
to  so  large  a  degree  into  the  daily  routine  of  American  coun 
try-folks  ;  the  emigrant  train  ;  the  development  of  a  religious 
sect,  such  as  could  take  shape  nowhere  but  in  the  unbounded 
and  untenanted  West. 

This  latter  circumstance  led  of  itself  to  the  adoption,  in 
some  measure,  of  the  Mormon  history  for  the  historical  back 
ground  of  the  drama.  But  the  characters  and  the  plot  are 
the  poet's  own,  and  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  Mormons,  as 
he  himself  stated.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  trial  for  him  to  find  that 
his  design  was  misinterpreted,  and  that  the  critics  would  see 
Joe  Smith  in  David  Starr,  there  being  indeed  nothing  in  com 
mon  between  them.  The  prototype  for  his  hero  which  the 
author  had  in  his  mind  was  rather  the  Rev.  Edward  Irving, 
the  founder  of  a  sect  in  the  first  half  of  the  present  century, 
which  still  exists  in  Scotland  and  in  Germany.  This  sect  be 
lieves  in  the  miraculous  renewal  of  the  spiritual  gifts  bestowed 
by  the  Apostles  on  the  early  Christians.  The  dramatic  poem, 
however,  was  worked  out  in  the  author's  mind  (to  use  his  own 
words)  "without  reference  to  that  or  any  other  sect.  I  de 
signed  only  to  represent  phases  of  spiritual  development  and 
their  external  results,  which  are  hardly  possible  in  any  other 
country  than  ours.  For  the  same  reason,  the  tragic  element 
in  the  poem  is  placed  chiefly  in  its  moral  and  spiritual  aspects, 
rather  than  in  the  action." 

Persons  intimately  acquainted  with  the  Bible  will  read  this 
poem  with  a  better  understanding  of  the  author's  intention, 
than  others  who  are  not  familiar  with  the  sacred  book.  Bay 
ard  Taylor  knew  the  Bible  thoroughly,  and  in  it,  like  Shelley, 
"  he  took  a  great  and  peculiar  interest."  Scriptural  allusions 
abound  in  the  Prophet ;  the  drama  turns,  indeed,  on  a  literal 
interpretation  of  the  Biblical  text,  which  grows  out  of  the  be 
lief  that  it  is  dictated  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  consequently 
must  be  accepted  as  it  stands.  This  belief  (to  use  once  more 
the  author's  own  words)  "  is  the  power  which  impels  him 
[David]  ;  and  this  is  the  Fate  which  makes  the  tragedy  of  his 
life  inevitable." 


328  NOTES. 

In  the  camp-meeting  scene,  David  comes  in  contact  with 
doctrinal  Christianity,  of  whose  preachers  he  says  later,  on 
page  14 :  — 

"  And  are  not  all  alike 
Giving  their  husks  of  doctrine  for  His  bread  ? " 

and  confronts  it  by  his  simple  faith,  which  returns  to  the  orig 
inal  source,  the  Bible,  for  guidance  and  inspiration.  But 
there,  in  making  the  fatal  mistake  of  seeing  the  letter  only, 
and  not  the  spirit,  he  allows  himself  to  be  misled  from  the 
outset,  and  thus  is  forced  step  by  step  to  follow  up  his  error 
to  its  last  developments,  which  cannot  but  destroy  him. 

The  vision  of  David,  after  he  has  gone  to  the  Wilderness 
(Scene  V.,  Act  L),  is  partly  based  on  a  personal  experience 
of  the  author,  of  which  he  tells  in  "  At  Home  and  Abroad," 
vol.  i,  p.  146.  Whilst  travelling  on  horseback  in  California, 
in  1849,  he  lost  his  way  near  the  foot-hills  of  the  Sierra  Ne 
vada.  Night  came  on,  and  he  was  obliged  to  halt  in  a  wooded 
dell.  He  had  taken  no  food  for  some  time,  and  he  lay  down 
supperless  on  the  bare  ground,  taking  the  saddle  for  his  pil 
low.  The  neighborhood  being  "famous  for  bears,"  he  slept 
but  little.  "  I  lay  awake  half  an  hour  at  a  time,"  he  relates, 
"  watching  the  culmination  of  the  stars  on  the  meridian  line 
of  a  slender  twig  over  my  head.  It  was  perhaps  an  hour  past 
midnight,  when,  as  I  thus  lay  with  open  eyes,  gazing  into  the 
eternal  beauty  of  Night,  I  became  conscious  of  a  deep,  mur 
muring  sound,  like  that  of  a  rising  wind A  strange 

feeling  of  awe  and  expectation  took  possession  of  me.  Not 
a  dead  leaf  stirred  on  the  boughs ;  while  the  mighty  sound  — 
a  solemn  choral,  sung  by  ten  thousand  voices  —  swept  down 
from  the  hills,  and  rolled  away  like  retreating  thunder  over 
the  plain.  It  was  no  longer  the  roar  of  the  wind.  As  in  the 
wandering  prelude  of  an  organ  melody,  note  trod  upon  note 
with  slow,  majestic  footsteps,  until  they  gathered  to  a  theme, 
and  then  came  the  words,  simultaneously  chanted  by  an  im 
measurable  host :  '  Vivant  terrestrice  I '  The  air  was  rilled 
with  the  tremendous  sound,  which  seemed  to  sweep  near  the 
surface  of  the  earth  in  powerful  waves,  without  echo  or  rever 
beration." 


NOTES.  329 

David  in  his  monologue,  speaking  of  his  vision  (page  23), 
says  :  — 

"  The  trees  were  filled  with  whispers ;  and  afar 
Called  voices  not  of  man ;  and  then  my  soul 
Went  forth  from  me,  and  spread  and  grew  aloft 
Through  parting  lights  —  His  arrows  here  and  there, 
Shot  down  on  earth." 

And  farther  on  he  continues  thus  :  — 

"  The  dark,  invisible  pillars  of  the  sky 
Breathed  like  deep  organ-pipes  of  awful  sound : 
A  myriad  myriad  tongues  the  choral  sang." 

At  the  conclusion  of  his  narrative  the  author  says  in  expla 
nation  of  his  own  "  wonderful  visitation  "  :  "I  was  undeni 
ably  awake  at  the  time,  ....  but  I  was  fatigued,  famished, 
alone  in  the  wilderness,  awed  by  the  solemnity  and  silence  of 
the  night,  —  perhaps  even  more  than  I  suspected,  —  and  my 
excited  imagination,  acting  involuntarily  and  unconsciously  to 
myself,  produced  the  illusion.  I  have  often  observed  that 
complete  repose  of  the  body,  after  great  fatigue,  is  accom 
panied  —  when  continued  to  a  certain  time  —  with  a  corre 
sponding  repose  of  volition,  a  passive  condition  of  the  mind, 
highly  favorable  to  the  independent  action  of  the  imagination. 
Then,  if  ever,  are  we  in  a  fit  state  to  hear 

'  The  airy  tongues  that  syllable  man's  names 
On  sands,  and  shores,  and  desert  wildernesses.' " 

The  crashing  of  the  rock  at  the  end  of  Act  I.,  when  David 
(page  37)  says:  "Be  thou  removed  !"  is  an  incident  which 
is  said  to  have  taken  place  during  the  preaching  of  the  so- 
called  "  Prophet "  Matthias,  who,  in  the  early  part  of  this 
century,  made  a  stir  among  the  people  of  the  State  of  New 
York. 

The  "exercise"  of  the  "gift  of  tongues"  bestowed  on 
Livia,  in  Act  II.  (page  53),  is  analogous  to  an  episode  in  the 
career  of  the  Rev.  Edward  Irving,  who,  when  preaching  in 
London,  in  1830,  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  a  lady,  speak 
ing  in  a  strange  tongue.  Thereupon  the  coming  down  of 
tongues  became  so  frequent  an  occurrence  among  the  sect 


33°  NOTES. 

that  he  used  to  pause  in  his  sermons  at  certain  times,  in  order 
to  allow  a  fair  chance  to  this  manifestation  of  the  Spirit. 

In  Act  III.  there  occurs  a  passage  which  the  author  con 
sidered  the  most  tragical  one  of  the  whole  poem.  It  is  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  Act  (page  96),  when  Rhoda,  alone,  in  the 
depth  of  night,  searches  the  New  Testament  in  vain  for  the 
text  which  she  had  thought  must  be  there  —  the  words  that 
would  arm  her  against  the  new  commandment  which  David 
is  to  proclaim  to  the  sect.  But  she  does  not  find  the  truth 
pointed  out  that  would  save  her,  the  one  lawful  wife  of  the 
man  she  loves,  from  being  superseded  by  another  ;  —  that 
would  make  her  hueband  shrink  from  committing  the  deep 
wrong  he  is  about  to  inflict,  not  upon  her  alone,  but  on  woman 
kind.  This  one  fatal  omission  in  all  the  holy  teachings  left 
her  without  a  defence,  a  prey  to  despair.  All  is  lost  to  her 
now. 

In  Act  IV.  the  curse  of  sin,  that  one  guilty  step  compels 
another,  has  descended  upon  David.  He  is  led  to  contem 
plate  the  taking  of  the  life  of  a  member  of  the  council  consid 
ered  to  be  dangerous.  Whilst  he  still  debates  with  himself, 
he  falls  into  a  revery,  and  soliloquizes  (page  117),  beginning 
thus : — 

"  I  see  the  poor  beast's  eyes, 
And  that  tremendous  question  hid  in  them, 
I  tried  to  answer." 

This  and  the  following  lines  commemorate  a  real  event,  which 
was  tragical  enough,  although  merely  concerning  two  favorite 
dogs ;  one  large  and  most  affectionate,  the  other  young,  small 
and  intelligent.  By  day  they  were  constant  companions  of 
the  family,  when  at  home  on  the  farm,  but  at  night  they  had 
to  sleep  out  of  doors,  to  keep  watch.  One  morning,  early, 
there  came  on  the  place  a  mad  dog.  He  was  seen  by  the 
colored  man  in  the  act  of  springing  upon  little  "  Beppo  "  and 
worrying  him.  There  was  no  sign  of  bite  or  scratch  on  him, 
or  on  poor  "  Picket,"  the  large  dog  ;  both,  however,  were  put 
in  confinement,  and  as  "  Beppo,"  after  a  day  or  two,  showed 
some  doubtful  symptoms,  the  safety  of  the  household  and 
the  neighborhood  seemed  imperatively  to  demand  the  killing 


NOTES.  331 

of  both  dogs.  They  were  killed  accordingly,  but  the  last  look 
the  poor  beasts,  who  seemed  to  feel  by  instinct  that  they  were 
doomed,  gave  to  their  master  and  mistress,  was  never  for 
gotten.  The  latter  mourned  for  these  poor  animals,  to  whom 
they  had  to  act  as  Fate  ;  and  the  question  came  up  between 
them  in  those  days,  whether  dumb  creatures,  like  these,  do 
not  in  some  measure  recognize  in  man  that  Providence  to 
which  we  ourselves  bow  down,  even  though  we  are  not  capa 
ble  of  fathoming  it.  The  author  in  this  passage  set  up  an 
expiatory  monument  to  poor  "  Picket  "  and  "  Beppo." 

The  simplicity  of  language  and  diction  in  the  Prophet  was  a 
part  of  the  author's  plan.  He  found  it  not  easy  to  restrain 
himself  and  to  tone  down  his  characters  from  beginning  to 
end  ;  but  he  certainly  proved  his  art  in  making  the  poem  one 
harmonious  whole  of  subdued  coloring.  As  to  an  acting  play, 
it  was  far  from  his  intention  to  consider  this  drama  as  such. 
His  own  words  in  this  respect  are  :  "  It  would  simply  be 
an  absurdity  to  attempt  its  representation  upon  the  stage." 


THE  MASQUE  OF  THE 


IF  chronologically  ranked,  this  drama  should  have  preceded 
the  Prophet,  since  it  was  written  more  than  a  year  before  the 
latter  was  begun.  The  editor,  however,  has  deemed  it  best 
not  to  separate  this  dramatic  poem  from  that  which  follows  it, 
because  of  its  connection  in  theme  and  order  of  thought  with 
Prince  Deukalion.  Although  not  intended  to  be  such,  the 
Alasqite  of  the  Gods  is  a  concordant  prelude  to  the  larger  and 
more  important  work.  So  close,  indeed,  is  the  intellectual 
kinship  of  the  two  poems,  that  the  former  seems  to  strike  the 
opening  chords,  whilst  the  latter  sets  in  full  -toned,  and  with 
orchestral  power  sweeps  through  its  growing  centuries. 


332  NOTES. 

The  Masque  of  the  Gods,  when  it  appeared,  differed  from 
anything  the  author  hitherto  had  sung.  It  touched  upon  a 
much  higher  and  loftier  theme  than  had  been  chosen  by  him 
before,  though  the  poem  of  "  Harpocrates,"  written  in  1865, 
already  seemed  to  point  in  the  direction  that  his  mind  and  his 
poetic  faculty  were  to  take.  This  drama  marks  the  ripeness 
of  the  new  intellectual  development  which  had  been  prepar 
ing  itself  in  the  author's  mind.  It  came  after  his  translation 
of  "  Faust,"  that  had  taught  him  a  masterly  handling  of  form, 
and  after  a  long  and  rare  season  of  congenial  labor  and  study. 
For  several  years  past  the  volumes  he  "loved,"  —  to  which  he 
alludes  in  the  "August  Pastoral/'— "the  heartful,  whisper 
ing  pages,"  "  the  yearning  voice  from  the  garden  in  Jena," 
and  the  "  answering  voice  from  the  park-side  cottage  in  Wei 
mar," 

—  "  the  sentimental  echo  from  chambers  of  office  in  Dresden,  — 
Yea,  and  the  feebler  and  farther  voices  that  sound  in  the  pauses," 

had  been  his  intimate  companions,  and  the  close  intercourse 
with  this  august  company  had  opened  new  avenues  of  thought, 
and  had  imparted  to  his  mind  that  largeness  and  universality 
which  characterize  in  so  high  a  degree  the  latter  years  of  his 
life. 

With  this  first  of  his  dramas  he  ceased  to  sing  to  his  old 
audiences  :  —  he  now  sang  to  himself  and  to  the  few  who  were 
able  to  understand  him.  It  was  written  whilst  residing  in 
New  York  for  the  winter,  in  1872.  He  had  been  obliged  to 
leave  his  temporary  home  in  that  city  for  a  fortnight,  in  order 
to  fulfil  some  lecturing  engagements  in  the  West.  When  he 
returned  he  brought  with  him,  as  the  fruit  of  his  lonely  journey 
ing  from  place  to  place,  the  plan  for  this  dramatic  poem,  on 
which  he  began  work  at  once.  He  wrote  the  first  scenes  of  it 
on  February  i6th,  and  finished  it  three  days  afterwards,  in  the 
evening.  This  was  shortly  before  sailing  for  Europe,  where 
"  Lars  "  was  written  in  the  autumn  of  the  same  year,  and  the 
Prophet  the  year  after. 

The  Masque  of  the  Gods  is  the  purely  poetical  expression  of 
one  large  thought,  which  had  taken  possession  of  the  author's 


NOTES.  333 

imagination,  and  which  could  not  rest  until  uttered.  It  paints 
the  growth  of  the  religious  aspects  and  aspirations  of  the 
human  mind  :  —  its  steady  spiritual  advancement  from  the 
worship  of  the  rude  forces  of  nature  to  a  clearer  perception 
of  the  Deity.  The  Gods  of  old  and  the  idols  that  find  them 
selves  set  aside,  correspond  to  respective  degrees  of  civiliza 
tion  over  the  world ;  they  are  creations  of  flie  human  mind, 
and  became  rulers  over  men  and  nations  by  right  of  those 
moral  powers  and  spiritual  ideas  which  they  personified  to 
the  perception  of  mankind.  They  were  allowed,  as  a  part  of 
the  great  and  universal  all,  to  prepare  the  mind  of  man  for  the 
dawning  and  perception  of  that  higher  truth  which  culminates 
in  the  humble  declaration  on  the  last  page  of  the  poem  :  — 

"  We  dare  not  name  Thee,  scarce  dare  pray  to  Thee." 
There  are  lines  of  exquisite  beauty  all  through  the  poem,  — 
lines  which  strike  the  ear  with  melody  all  their  own  ;  but  the 
'idea  conveyed  is  greater  than  the  rhythmical  charm.     The 
entire  last  passage  (pages  188  and  189),  where  Man  speaks,  is 
full  of  ample  suggestiveness.     The  lines, — 

"  If  we  look  up 

Beyond  the  shining  form  wherein  Thy  Love 
Made  holiest  revelation,  we  must  shade 
Our  eyes  beneath  the  broadening  wing  of  Doubt, 
To  save  us  from  Thy  splendor," 

express  so  grand  a  thought,  and  one  so  original,  that  we  can 
not  help  wondering  why  it  was  not  pointed  out  in  any  of  the 
reviews  of  this  poem,  and  of  the  "  November  Pastoral  "  ;  for 
it  was  first  expressed  in  the  latter,  thus :  — 

"  Be  calm,  for  to  doubt  is  to  seek  whom 

None  can  escape,  and  the  soul  is  dulled  with  an  idle  acceptance. 
Crying,  questioning,  stumbling  in  gloom,  thy  pathway  ascendeth; 
They  with  the  folded  hands  at  the  last  relapse  into  strangers. 
Over  thy  head,  behold !  the  wing  with  its  measureless  shadow 
Spread  against  the  light,  is  the  wing  of  the  Angel  of  Unfaith, 
Chosen  of  God  to  shield  the  eyes  of  men  from  His  glory." 

The  reference  made  to  science,  farther  on  in  the  same  pas 
sage,  is  one  of  the  links  that  connect  this  drama  with  the  fol 
lowing  larger  one,  where  we  see  Urania  taking  an  active  part, 


334  NOTES. 

not  to  mislead  and  confuse  mankind,  but  to  assist  in  conduct 
ing  the  human  race  towards  the  daybreak  of  a  purified  and 
enlightened  age.  The/»a/<?  of  Man's  speech,  however,  seems 
to  be  the  chance  key-note,  struck  for  the  intonation  of  the 
later  drama :  — 


we 


Are  children  still,  we  were  mistaken  oft, 
Yet  we  believe  that  in  some  riper  time 
Thy  perfect  truth  shall  come." 


PRINCE   DEUKALION.* 


THIS  drama  was  begun  three  years  before  the  death  of  the 
author,  at  a  time  which,  to  all  seeming,  would  have  been  most 
unpropitious  to  poetical  production,  especially  of  a  purely 
ideal  character.  Owing  to  recent  circumstances,  he  was  forced 
to  apply  himself  to  hard,  practical  work.  He  had  been  for 
months  past  on  an  extensive  and  very  fatiguing  lecturing-tour, 
and  during  that  time  —  the  winter  of  1875  —  the  conception 
of  Prince  Deukalion  was  matured  in  his  mind,  and  the  open 
ing  monologue  written  on  a  day  in  March,  whilst  at  home  in 
New  York.  From  this  time  forth,  the  manuscript-book,  in 
which  each  scene  was  copied  from  the  first  carefully  revised 
draught,  was  his  constant  companion  wherever  he  went,  until 
the  whole  poem  was  completed  at  noon,  on  October  7th,  1877. 

After  the  completion  of  Act  I.,  in  May,  1875,  the  work 
rested  for  a  while,  until,  at  the  beginning  of  winter,  and  to 
wards  the  spring  of  the  following  year,  Act  II.  was  written 
and  Act  III.  begun.  Of  the  latter,  only  two  scenes  were  put 
on  paper  then.  Lecturing  engagements  and  professional 
work,  and,  later  in  the  spring  of  1876,  the  honorable  duty  im 
posed  upon  the  author  of  furnishing  the  Centennial  "Na 
tional  Ode,"  prevented  him  from  continuing  his  drama.  Yet 
there  was  still  another  reason  for  the  long  pause  that  inter- 


NOTES.  335 

vened  before  the  poem  was  taken  up  again  and  brought  to  con 
clusion.  A  difficulty  had  presented  itself  to  the  poet  at  the 
beginning  of  Act  III.,  as  to  the  elaboration  of  his  conceived 
idea,  and,  as  was  his  wont,  he  waited  until  the  lacking  inspira 
tion  should  present  itself,  and  help  him  to  solve  the  problem 
in  his  mind.  It  came  to  him  at  last,  while  on  a  visit  on  the 
coast  of  New  England,  towards  the  end  of  August,  1877. 
Work  on  the  drama  was  resumed  immediately  after  returning 
to  New  York,  and  the  whole  was  completed  between  Septem 
ber  ist  and  October  7th. 

The  author  at  first  intended  to  call  his  drama  "  Eos,"  but  he 
soon  afterwards  changed  this  title  for  the  present  one.  His 
hero,  as  he  conceived  him,  being  no  common  person,  but  an 
exalted  and  regal  character,  he  called  him  Prince  Deuka- 
lion,  instead  of  Deukalion.  He  borrowed  the  names  of  Deu- 
kalion  and  Pyrrha  from  the  old  Greek  myth,  to  which  he 
adhered  in  a  slight  manner,  but  he  was  anxious  at  the  same 
time  that  they  should  not  be  identified  with  that  ancient  couple. 

Whilst  the  drama  was  in  progress,  the  author  repeatedly 
expressed  his  intention  of  waiting  several  years  after  he  had 
completed  it,  before  he  gave  it  to  the  public.  About  the  time 
the  work  was  done,  however,  an  earlier  publication  seemed  to 
be  desirable  for  various  reasons.  All  the  different  parts  of 
the  drama  had  undergone  several  strict  revisions,  and  had 
been  filed  considerably.  Some  passages,  indeed,  had  been 
rewritten  more  than  once  before  they  would  satisfy  him.  This 
was  not  an  unusual  occurrence.  He  never  published  any 
poem  from  a  first  draft,  as  his  copiously  corrected  and  rewrit 
ten  manuscripts  of  poems  show.  He  felt  now  that  he  had 
done  his  best  with  this  drama,  and  that  he  could  not  alter  it 
materially.  But  there  was  a  still  more  urgent  reason.  It 
seemed  as  though,  all  the  world  over,  the  intellectual  atmos 
phere  were  pervaded  with  thought  akin  to  that  expressed  in 
this  work  ;  and  when  two  different  poems  appeared,  touching 
on  the  same  subject,  he  became  alarmed  lest  his  idea  should 
be  forestalled  by  the  earlier  publication  of  a  work,  similar  to 
his  own  in  design  and  purpose,  by  some  other  author. 

The  first  of  these  poems  was  a  short  one,  which  gave  its 


33  6  NOTES. 

title  to  the  whole  "  Volume  of  Verse."  It  is  called  "  Au 
rora  ;  "  the  author's  name  is  not  given.  It  appeared  in  1875, 
in  London,  but  not  till  1877  did  it  come  into  Bayard  Taylor's 
hands.  The  second  was  a  German  poem  of  some  length,  by 
a  new  poet,  Siegfried  Lipiner.  It  is  called  "  Prometheus  Un 
bound/'  and  was  published  at  Leipzig  in  1876.  Bayard  Tay 
lor's  attention  was  called  to  this  work  in  the  autumn  of  1877, 
after  he  had  finished  his  own  poem,  by  a  review  of  it  in  the 
"  London  Academy,"  which  gave  an  extract  that  came  very 
strikingly  near  his  own  idea  as  incorporated  in  Prince  Deuka- 
lion.  The  volume  was  ordered  from  Germany,  and  a  start 
ling  resemblance  between  the  two  conceptions  was  discovered 
in  more  than  one  place.  This  circumstance  was  of  the  great 
est  weight  with  him,  in  deciding  him  to  publish  his  drama  in 
the  autumn  of  the  following  year ;  and  before  he  left  for  Ber 
lin,  in  the  spring  of  1878,  he  contrived  to  read  the  entire  proof 
for  publication. 

The  author  was  aware  that  in  this  poem  he  addressed  him 
self  to  a  small  class  of  readers,  and  he  was  resigned  to  it  from 
the  first.  Still,  its  lyric  and  rhythmical  beauties  are  so  varied 
and  manifold,  that  they  might  lure  all  lovers  of  poetry  to  pon 
der  over  the  thought  which  is  clad  in  such  garments.  In  time 
the  idea  underlying  the  poem  will  reveal  itself  to  all  thought 
ful  readers,  —  there  is  no  necessity  for  explaining  it.  What 
the  editor  purposes  to  do  in  the  following  brief  remarks,  is  to 
elucidate  a  few  poetical  disguises,  or  allusions,  for  those  not 
familiar  with  them  :  —  to  throw  some  stray  light  on  a  passage 
here  and  there,  that  might  otherwise  be  considered  dark.  By 
so  doing  we  would  not  be  thought  to  be  wiser  than  most  read 
ers  ;  we  merely  hope  that,  through  our  intimacy  with  the  work 
during  its  progress,  some  informing  light  may  have  been  im 
parted  to  us. 

ACT  I. 

PAGE  205. 

— yonder  sun  were  dim, 
Save  my  torch  enkindled  him. 

According  to  Hesiod,  Eros  was  one  of  the  original  creative 
Powers. 


NOTES.  337 

PAGE  208. 

Dost  thou  recall —  how  long  ago  it  seems  ! — 
Mine  ancient  glory  ? 

Pyrrha  refers  here  to  the  elevated  social  position  accorded 
to  woman  in  the  civilization  of  ancient  Egypt.  We  learn 
from  authentic  sources,  discovered  in  papyri  and  inscriptions, 
that  not  only  was  woman  considered  the  equal  of  man,  but 
that  superior  right  and  privilege  was  accorded  to  her  in  some 
respects.  A  papyrus,  preserved  in  the  Louvre  at  Paris,  tells 
us  that  she  had  the  right  to  hold  property  and  dispose  of  it  as 
she  pleased.  In  the  inscriptions  on  the  oldest  monuments 
she  is  frequently  called  the  "  Mistress  of  the  House,"  and  on 
most  of  the  paintings  in  tombs  and  on  the  papyri  of  the  dead, 
man  and  wife  sit  side  by  side,  —  oftentimes  with  their  arms 
put  around  each  other,  —  as  being  united  in  true  and  lasting 
wedlock. 

PAGE  210. 

Heiress  of  gifts  interpreted  as  woe. 

The  gifts  here  referred  to  are  those  wherewith  the  gods  and 
goddesses  endowed  Pandora,  when  she  was  sent  down  from 
Olympus  to  entice  Prometheus  to  wed  her. 

PAGE  214. 

—  despair 

Should  the  defiant  God  within  us  fail — 
The  defiant  God  can  be  no  other  than  Prometheus,  who 
stole  the  fire  from  heaven  to  kindle  the  soul  of  Man,  which 
brought  down  on  him  the  wrath  of  the  Gods.  After  his 
atonement  for  this  daring  act  —  when  Hercules  had  liberated 
him  from  his  tortures  —  he  was  admitted  into  the  assembly  of 
the  Gods,  on  Mount  Olympus. 

PAGE  216. 

—  he,  -with  the  bended  brow 
And  parted  waves  of  his  luxuriant  hair, 
Shall  yield  his  shadowy  forehead  to  the  thorn 
And  take  a  holier  name. 
22 


33  8  NOTES. 

In  the  National  Museum  at  Naples  there  is  a  beautiful 
bronze  head,  said  to  be  that  of  Plato,  which  answers  to  this 
description.  It  was  found  at  Herculaneum,  and  the  resem 
blance  between  it  and  the  typical  head  of  Christ  is  very  strik 
ing. 

PAGES  219  AND  220. 

Since  thou,  adrift, 

And  that  immortal  woman  by  thy  side 
Floated  above  submerged  barbarity. 

In  these  lines  and  the  following  an  allusion  is  made  to 
that  part  of  the  ancient  myth  which  clings  to  the  names  of 
Deukalion  and  Pyrrha.  They,  because  alone  righteous,  were 
saved  when  the  flood  came  to  destroy  all  other  human  beings. 

In  the  fifth  line  of  the  same  passage,  Prometheus  clearly 
and  distinctly  points  out  the  significance  of  the  hero  of  the 
drama,  whilst  in  the  following  line  he  alludes  to  Pandora,  his 
spouse,  who  stands  in  the  same  relation  to  Woman  as  he  to 
Man.  Pandora's  "  deed,"  means,  of  course,  her  opening  the 
forbidden  casket  from  which  escaped  all  the  evils  with  which 
the  human  race  has  been  afflicted  ever  since. 

A  little  farther  on,  the  line,  — 

Take  one  new  comfort,  Epimetheus  lives  ! 

brings  us  suddenly  face  to  face  with  one  of  the  subtler  ideas 
of  the  poem.  For  those  who  have  been  following  the  won 
derful  progress  of  human  knowledge,  the  lighting  up  of  dark 
ages,  in  our  own  days,  it  ought  not  to  be  difficult  to  see  what 
is  meant  in  Epimetheus.  A  long  vista  into  the  Past  has  been 
opened  before  our  amazed  eyes  by  discoveries  and  researches, 
until  we  see  our  race  almost  young  again.  But  Epimetheus 
is  not  merely  an  intellectual  force  :  he  is  also  an  ethical 
power.  If  Prometheus  —  will,  aspiration,  genius  —  leads  us 
onward  and  upward,  Epimetheus,  through  perception  of  and 
insight  into  all  that  is  past  without  us  and  within  us,  gives  us 
self-knowledge,  which  is  the  awakening  of  the  soul  —  its  re 
juvenescence. 


NOTES.  339 

PAGE  222. 

—  though  she,  who  now  my  place 
Ustirps,  takes  Egypfs  serpents  for  the  Gods. 
This  allusion  to  Eve  is  made  in  the  spirit  of  the  Titan's 
spouse,  who  feels   deeply  the  wrong  done   her  in  imputing 
the  blame  of  all  the  sin  and  evil  of  the  world  to  her.     In  this 
spirit  she  sets  herself  up  as  the  prototype  of  the  Mosaic  Eve, 
who  was  tempted,  not  like  herself,  by  the  Gods,  but  by  the 
serpent,  which,  in  the  most  ancient  lore  of  Egypt,  represents 
sin  and  wickedness  under  the  name  of  Apep.     She  then  adds 
scornfully  — 

And  eats  the  apple,  not  on  Ida's  hill ! 

referring  to  that  other  apple  of  old  renown  which  caused  the 
war  and  the  destruction  of  Troy. 

PAGE  223. 

—  whose  heart 

Dreams  back  Tithomis  and  dear  early  love. 
Eos,  who  heralds  the  morning  with  the  splendors  of  Dawn, 
is  one  of  the  most  soulful  conceptions  of  the  Greek  mythol 
ogy.  Dr.  Emil  Braun,  in  his  "  Griechische  Gotterlehre,"  says 
of  her :  "  She  gives  rise  to  elementary  phenomena  which 
prove  distinctly  that  in  her  we  have  no  frosty  allegory,  but 
that  we  see  before  us  incorporated  the  ideal  aurora,  who  at 
every  recurring  break  of  morning  is  greeted  with  holy  awe  by 
every  living  creature."  It  would  have  been  impossible  for 
the  Greek  mind  to  imagine  a  being  like  her  without  an  ethical 
background.  To  it  she  was  instinct  with  life  and  warmth  and 
passion.  Wherever  she  appears  she  is  love-compelling  and 
victorious.  Her  earliest  love  was  Orion,  the  beautiful  youth 
—  the  pupil  of  the  Palaestra.  But  he  was  a  mortal,  and  fell  a 
prey  to  age  ;  he  was  lost  to  her.  Pier  love  then  turns  to  Ti- 
thonus,  who  is  represented  with  a  lyre,  as  a  favorite  of  the 
Muses.  For  him  she  besought  the  gift  of  immortality,  which 
Zeus  granted.  Unluckily,  however,  she  forgot  to  ask  at  the 
same  time  that  eternal  youth  be  bestowed  on  him.  When  he 


34°  NOJ^ES. 

grew  old  and  weak  with  age,  he  grew  a  burden  to  her,  and 
she  at  last,  for  very  pity,  turned  him  into  a  cricket. 


ACT  II. 

In  the  "  Contents  "  which  are  found  at  the  head  of  the 
drama,  "A.  D.  1300"  is  mentioned  as  the  time  in  which  the 
second  Act  takes  place.  This  is  meant  to  comprise  the  whole 
era,  which  was  one  of  the  greatest  importance  to  the  develop 
ment  and  progress  of  the  human  race.  It  was  the  time  when 
the  Church  of  Rome  had  reached  the  climax  of  its  power ; 
when  new  ideas  were  taking  root,  and  were  stirring  the  minds 
of  men ;  when  art  and  literature  put  forth  fresh  shoots  and 
blossoms,  and  the  spiritual  legacies  of  the  antique  world  — 
spurned  so  long  in  the  triumphant  march  of  the  newer  civiliza 
tion  —  became  patent  once  more  and  acted  like  a  new  leaven. 

PAGE  230.    THE  YOUTH. 

In  him  we  easily  recognize  Dante,  the  greatest  genius  of 
the  age.  In  Scene  IV.  we  meet  him  once  more  as  "  The 
Poet." 

PAGE  231. 
The  gate  of  Dis. 

Dis  is  another  name  for  Pluton,  the  Greek  God  of  the 
nether  world. 

PAGE  232.    MEDUSA. 

Medusa,  the  Gorgon  of  old,  was  of  a  wondrously  dazzling 
beauty,  but  whosoever  looked  in  her  face  was  transformed 
into  stone.  The  name  is  fittingly  chosen  for  her,  who  would 
grasp  all  things,  and  compel  them  to  her  sole  service. 

PAGE  240. 
A  favor  on  a  helm,  —  a  tourney's  crown  ! 

In  this  line  and  the  following  ones  Pyrrha  refers  to  the  chiv 
alrous  display  of  the  Knights  and  Minnesingers,  which  was 
empty  of  true  regard  for  woman,  whilst  seeming  to  confer 


NOTES.  341 

honors  upon  her.  Farther  on,  in  the  same  passage,  she  con 
tinues  to  feel  as  a  degradation  the  spiritual  servitude  of  women 
in  cloisters,  in  spite  of  the  sanctity  which,  in  return  for  it,  is 
bestowed  on  them. 

PAGE  241. 

The  winds  of  earth  are  wafting  to  and  fro 
The  ashes  of  great  lives, 

Dissension  was  rife  within  the  Church  and  without.  More 
than  one  powerful  mind  had  already  arisen  in  opposition  to 
its  despotism  and  sore  abuses,  and  had  been  crushed  by  flame 
and  torture.  Arnold  of  Brescia  for  such  endeavor  was  burnt 
in  Rome,  in  1 155.  The  French  monk  Abelard,  famous  for 
his  learning,  was  persecuted  relentlessly  his  whole  life  long 
for  the  liberal  theological  views  he  entertained  and  taught. 

PAGE  245. 

—  where  Cesar's  crown, 
Descending,  stopped  when  Tibur's  Sibyl  spake. 

When  Augustus  thought  of  making  himself  Roman  em 
peror,  he  consulted  the  Tiburtine  Sibyl  in  regard  to  his  proba 
ble  success.  The  Sibyl  then  showed  him  the  future  in  a  vis 
ion.  She  bade  him  look  up,  and  there  he  beheld  the  Caesar's 
crown  he  coveted,  hovering,  not  over  him  but  over  a  lowly 
child,  lying  in  a  manger. 

PAGE  246.    THE  PAINTER. 

He  is  no  other  than  Giotto,  the  friend  of  Dante,  whose 
youthful  likeness  he  has  left  us  on  the  wall  of  the  Bargello,  at 
Florence.  Giotto  was  the  regenerator  of  art,  who  freed  it 
from  the  bondage  of  the  stiff  forms  of  the  Byzantine  school, 
and  restored  movement  to  the  human  figure. 

PAGE  246. 
Yet  for  thee  there  pleads  no  crownless  Muse. 

Medusa  comforts  herself  not  only  with  the  fact  that  the 
Muses  no  longer  wear  the  crown  of  divinity,  but  that  there  is 
not  even  a  separate  Muse,  whom  the  painter  can  invoke. 


342  NOTES. 

PAGE  247. 
First  of  the  triple  triads. 

The  author  follows  the  example  of  Classic  Art  in  introduc 
ing  the  Muses  in  groups  of  three.  A  triad  is  of  frequent  oc 
currence  in  mythological  formations.  There  being  nine  Muses, 
they  are  represented  either  as  a  triple  triad,  or  in  pairs,  in 
which  latter  case  one  of  the  Muses  appears  as  the  leader  of 
the  whole  chorus,  —  or  she  forms  the  centre,  connecting  thus 
the  two  half-choruses.  There  was  no  set  schedule  for  such 
combinations  :  the  poet  or  the  artist  was  left  free  to  form 
them  as  it  suited  the  purposes  of  his  art.  The  author  of  our 
drama  has  availed  himself  of  this.  He  introduces  as  the  first 
triad  the  Muses  expressive  of  the  gladsome  enjoyment  of  the 
passing  moment — of  Music,  of  frolicksome  Comedy,  and  of 
the  Dance.  The  next  triad  is  led  by  the  tragic  Muse,  denoting 
thereby  its  serious  tenor.  Linked  with  Melpomene  are  the 
Muses  of  Song  and  lyric  Poetry.  This  triad  is  followed  by 
the  Muses  of  epic  Poetry  and  of  History,  independent  and 
apart  from  whom  stands  Urania,  the  Muse  of  applicable  Sci 
ence,  as  the  most  potent  of  all— the  only  one  who  terrifies 
Medusa. 

PAGE  250. 
—  What  Lamia  lingers  here  ? 

The  author  himself  gives  the  explanation  of  "  Lamia  "  in 
one  of  his  "  Notes  "  to  the  Second  Part  of  "  Faust." 

"The  original  Lamia,  the  daughter  of  Belus  and  Libia, 
was  beloved  by  Jupiter,  and  then  transformed,  through  Juno's 
jealousy,  into  a  hideous,  child-devouring  monster.  Lilith,  the 
nocturnal  female  vampire  of  the  Hebrews,  mentioned  in  Isaiah, 
is  rendered  Lamia  in  the  Vulgate.  In  the  plural  they  appear 
to  have  corresponded,  very  nearly,  to  the  witches  of  the  Mid 
dle  Ages,  who,  indeed,  were  then  frequently  called  Lamia. 
Keats's  poem  of  '  Lamia,'  in  which  the  bride,  recognized 
by  the  keen-eyed  sage,  returns  to  lieu  original  serpent-form, 
represents  another  of  the  superstitions  attached  to  the  race." 


NOTES.  343 

ACT  III. 
PAGE  260.    POET. 

In  him  we  see  the  representative  of  modern  Lyric  Poetry 
in  its  relation  to  Nature.  He  is  no  longer  indifferent  to  her, 
as  were  the  poets  of  ages  gone  by.  He  has  recognized  her 
beauties  ;  he  loves  her,  and  is  in  sympathy  with  her  aspects 
and  moods.  He  appeals  to  Mother  Earth,  and  is  heard. 
Gaea  now  proclaims  herself  "a  Soul,"  and  exults. 

PAGE  262. 

Ye  highly  live,  more  awful  in  the  spell 
Of  unseen  loveliness  ! 

In  the  passage  commencing  thus  we  are  reminded  of  Schil 
ler's  poem  of  "  The  Gods  of  Greece,"  in  which  he  laments 
the  loss  of  that  time  when  — 

—  "  of  Poesie  the  veil  enchanted 
Sweetly  o'er  the  form  of  Truth  was  thrown." 

The  author  of  our  drama,  in  the  lines  before  us,  draws  quite 
another  conclusion  from  that  which  Schiller  sets  forth  in  his 
beautiful  poem  ;  and  we  feel  very  much  inclined  to  accept  this 
speech  of  Gasa  as  an  answer  to  the  following  verses  of  Schil 
ler,  taken  from  the  above-mentioned  poem.  In  singing  of  all 
the  fair  forms  of  Nature  that  are  no  more,  he  says  that  then  — 

"  Misty  Oreads  dwelt  on  yonder  mountains  ; 
In  this  tree  the  Dryad  made  her  home; 
Where  the  Naiads  held  the  urns  of  fountains, 
Sprang  the  streams  in  silver  foam. 

"  From  these  rushes  Syrinx  once  was  crying, 

From  this  forest  Philomela's  pain. 
For  her  daughter  Proserpine,  the  mighty 

Ceres  wept  beside  the  river's  fall ; 
Here,  upon  these  hills,  did  Aphrodite 

Vainly  on  Adonis  call. 


Meads  and  woods  are  lifeless,  hushed  the  voices, 
And  I  seek  divinities  in  vain ; 


344  NOTES. 

Of  that  world  where  nature  bright  rejoices, 

But  the  shadow  we  retain. 
Heaven's  vault  I  scan,  the  stars  in  motion,  — 

Thee  Selene,  I  can  find  no  more, 
And  my  cries  to  forest  and  to  ocean 

Echo  from  a  desolate  shore ! " 

PAGE  278. 

Yield  up  thy  spells  to  one  who  saw  thee  pass 
Through  the  dusk  halls  where  Amun-Ra  was  lord, 
Or  Nile-borne  on  thy  barque  of  flowers  ! 
The  ark  formed  a  conspicuous  feature  in  the  religious  cere 
monies  of  ancient  Egypt.  It  sometimes  had  the  shape  of  a 
boat,  and  sometimes  that  of  a  shrine,  and  was  used  to  receive 
the  image  of  the  deity  when  carried  about  in_grand  proces 
sion.  Such  was  the  case  during  the  sacred  mysteries  of 
Amun-Ra,  the  Sun-God  of  Thebes  and  Heliopolis  (the  On  of 
the  Bible),  and  during  those  of  Osiris,  which  were  the  most 
solemn  of  all.  The  latter  rites  were  celebrated  each  year  in 
rejoicing  for  the  inundation  of  the  Nile  and  the  new  life  that 
sprung  up  from  it.  The  ark  of  the  God,  who  had  been  dead 
and  was  now  resuscitated,  was  then  seen  floating  on  the  Nile, 
in  a  festive  bark,  trimmed  and  entwined  with  garlands  of  flow 
ers. 

PAGE  278. 

Symbol  of  Fire,  the  oldest,  holiest ! 

In  the  remotest  Past,  when  on  the  high  table-land  of  Asia 
men  knew  of  no  other  deity  than  the  life-giving  Fire  of  the 
sun,  the  cross  was  worshipped  as  its  emblem. 

PAGES  290  AND  291. 
And  aspiration,  trying  lonely  wings, 
Escapes  the  ancient  arrow  / 

We  have  an  allusion  here  to  the  myth  of  Icarus.  His 
father,  Daedalus,  having  made  wings  for  him  which  he  fast 
ened  to  his  shoulders  by  means  of  wax,  warned  him  not  to 
soar  too  high.  But  the  youth,  unmindful  of  this  counsel,  rose 
up  higher  and  higher  into  the  ether,  until  he  came  near  the 


NOTES.  345 

chariot  of  the  sun,  whence  Apollo,  driving  along  the  vault  of 
heaven,  espied  him.  Incensed  at  this  presumptuous  daring  of 
a  mortal,  he  shot  one  of  his  arrows  at  him,  and,  pierced  to 
death,  the  poor  youth  sank  until  the  waves  of  the  ^gean 
Sea  covered  him. 

After  Act  III.  there  is  no  occasion  for  any  further  explana 
tory  notes  ;  for  the  fourth  and  concluding  Act  being  of  a 
purely  imaginative  and  ideal  character,  the  reader  will  need 
no  other  guide  than  his  own  mind. 


THE   END. 


